Missing in Action
by LiveLaughLove728
Summary: The worst week of Ginny's life began with a familiar face in her fireplace.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, beautiful people.**

 **I really have no idea what I'm doing, starting another story, but I've been thinking about this idea a lot and I just had to write it out. Originally, I'd intended to just write this as a long one-shot, but I think I can better do it justice as a multi-chapter fic. I'm thinking it will be about ten chapters long, but we'll see where it goes. I've never written anything like this before, but I think it is something that realistically could happen and it's an interesting perspective to consider. Please give it a read and let me know what you think!**

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The worst week of Ginny Potter's life began with a familiar head in her fireplace.

Until that point, her day really hadn't been half bad. She'd had practice with the Harpies that morning—a grueling but satisfying workout—and had returned only about an hour ago to shower and make herself some lunch in the form of reheated leftovers from dinner at the Burrow the night before. The house was empty, as it had been for the past few days. Harry was out of the country, on a clandestine mission with a team of fellow Aurors to locate and arrest a trio of escaped underground Death-Eaters they'd tracked to a small town in Belarus—information she was not technically supposed to be privy to—and was not due home for another few days. He'd been on several missions since joining the Auror Office after the war. Most of them had taken place during her final year at Hogwarts, when the majority of Voldemort's followers had been hunted down. Many of these missions Ginny had known little, if anything, about prior to Harry's safe return—a fact she'd taken great issue with at the time, but for which she could only be grateful now. She knew she'd only have worried herself mad if she had.

Only a few covert missions had taken place in the years since those initial busy months, some having lasted far longer than this six-day endeavor. Without school to keep her distracted and ignorant, Ginny had spent a good number of the earliest ones wrought with fear and worry. She'd eventually grown more used to the idea, and now, though she definitely slept better and breathed easier every time Harry was safely back with her again, she was essentially an old pro.

Ginny was in the lounge; her legs sprawled across the empty cushions of the sofa beside her, picking through the remains of the pasty—her mother's recipe—on her plate and skimming halfheartedly through a copy of the Daily Prophet when the Floo flared across the room. She glanced at the fireplace without any real concern. Their Floo was only connected to a few others throughout the wizarding world, the majority of which belonged to her own family, and just because she wasn't expecting anyone didn't mean one of them hadn't decided to drop by uninvited—it was a far more regular occurrence than Ginny would have liked at times. However, the face that appeared in the flames a second later had her setting down the newspaper and her mostly empty plate.

"Kingsley," she greeted the Minister for Magic with a smile, suddenly very grateful she'd bothered to appropriately dress herself after her shower as she crossed the room to kneel before the fire. Kingsley Shackelbolt had grown increasingly busy in the years since the war ended, and though he still remained a family friend and occasionally exchanged owls with the lot of them, it was unusual for him to drop in unannounced. Ginny's interest was peeked, if nothing else, as she lowered herself onto the rug before him. "How are you?"

Her smile vanished quickly upon reaching him. Facial expressions were not always clear over the Floo like this, but close as she was now, she could see the solemn expression on Kingsley's face as he answered, "To tell you the truth, Ginny, I've been better." He didn't pause long before continuing. His next words had her heart stopping dead in her chest. "I need you to come over here. It's important."

He wasn't speaking as the Minister for Magic, or as any figure of authority at all, but as Kingsley, her father's friend and someone who cared.

Harry. This could be about nothing else. Nothing else would be important enough for Kingsley to contact her directly like this and inform her she needed to come to the Ministry right away. Fear wrapped around Ginny's heart so completely at the thought, she couldn't breathe.

Somehow, she managed to nod.

If her feelings were clear on her face, Kingsley didn't comment on it. "I've connected your fireplace directly to my office," was all he said, "Come directly over." And then he was gone.

Ginny stared at the place where his face had been, trying suddenly to remember how to move her body. It took far longer than it should have, and part of her was disgusted with herself for it. She'd fought in a war at sixteen, for Merlin's sake. She'd survived Tom Riddle's diary when she'd been just eleven. She'd co-led the DA during her horrid Sixth Year. She could surely handle this meeting with Kingsley, no matter what he had to say. "Come on, Ginny," she murmured to herself, "You're better than this."

She got to her feet, remnants of her lunch forgotten on the coffee table behind her. She scarcely remembered to slip her bare feet into the trainers still sitting beside the fireplace where she'd left them upon arriving home earlier, before grabbing a small handful of Floo powder from the container atop the mantle and throwing it into the fire. "Office of the Minister for Magic," she forced herself to say, and then stepped into the emerald flame.

Ginny was used to the familiar rush of wind and passing fireplaces within the Floo Network. In seconds, she landed at her desired location and stepped out into the Minister's office deep within the Ministry of Magic. Ginny had been in this office before, but not recently. In the months following the Battle of Hogwarts, many debriefings had been held in here, during which she, along with various other students, informed Kingsley of the details of their year with the Carrows. Other times, she'd come with Harry for moral support as he'd talked with the new Minister about one thing or another as only he could. But it had been years.

Not much seemed to have changed. A few more personal effects could be seen around the spacious room, but the same well-used desk still sat on one side, buried almost entirely with paperwork and various clutter. Kingsley waited for her, stood before that desk with a stoic expression, even as hints of poorly veiled pain flashed in his brown eyes as they met hers. A few feet behind him, Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office, stood with his hands clasped before him. Robards had been the wizard who trained Harry to be an Auror, and Ginny had heard no shortage of awful things about the man during those early, arduous weeks of training. But he was a good man and a great Auror, and she knew Harry respected him greatly. Robard's face was devoid of expression, but he too seemed tense and unhappy. He nodded to Ginny in mute greeting and her eyes fell on Kingsley once more.

"What happened?" she asked now, looking between the both of them and wasting no time.

Kingsley took a breath as if steeling himself. "Let's sit down," he said, gesturing to the small seating area set up across the room, likely for meetings such as this. But Kingsley wasn't normally one to dance around the point and Ginny was not anxious for him to do so now.

"Is he alive?" she asked plainly, her voice even. She made no effort to move.

The wizards exchanged glances. It was Robards who answered. "We don't know."

Her heart stood still at the words, but Ginny refused to let herself cry. She allowed no hint of her feelings to cross her face, but Kingsley lifted a comforting hand to her shoulder all the same. "Come on," he said, "Sit down and we'll tell you everything."

She didn't argue now and followed him and Robards across the office. She sat herself down on the waiting sofa. Kingsley sat down beside her and Robards took the large chair across from them. "Explain," Ginny said to the Head Auror the instant they were all seated. He was in charge of all Auror operations, after all. He was the one with the details.

Robards did not hesitate. "As you probably know, one of the main objectives of the Auror Office and MLE since the end of Voldemort's reign has been to track down and capture all remaining Death Eaters, dark wizards, and sympathizers who fled and went into hiding at the war's end. Potter's team has spent weeks tracking one such group led by a dark wizard by the name of Reuben Knox. They were able to pinpoint their location in northern Belarus last week, and as you know, they left four days ago to infiltrate and capture Knox and his cohorts." Ginny nodded her confirmation, waiting for more.

"The team spent three days staking out the inn where the wizards were hiding out under aliases, and planned to infiltrate late last night. Unfortunately, one of the Aurors under Potter's charge is a relatively new recruit. Excellent marks and dueling skills, but apparently not as good under pressure as he let everyone here believe." Robards had the grace to look ashamed. "He panicked in the ensuing firefight; froze up. He was very nearly captured, and by every right, he would have deserved it." Robards paused long enough to take a breath. "From what I understand, Potter knocked the young Auror out of the way and took a stunning spell to the chest himself. Knocked him out cold. Knox and his men had regrouped enough in the distraction to allow them to retreat. The rest of my Aurors were too far away to be of any help to Potter in time. The dark wizards managed to Apparate away with him. The team tracked them for hours, but came up empty-handed. They were forced to return a few hours ago to regroup themselves."

Ginny had sat in silence, listening to Robards speak. Her heart felt like a dead weight in her chest and she was suddenly grateful Kingsley had persuaded her to sit down—she supposed he had experience breaking bad news to family members. Still, she did not cry, did not allow herself to react very much at all. Because if she allowed herself even the tiniest slip, she'd either start weeping or yelling or breaking things, and none of those options was acceptable right now. Not here. Not with the eyes of these wizards on her, waiting for her to do just that.

Harry had been captured by Death-Eaters. After he had single-handedly killed their leader and all but signed his own death warrant for them. He had allowed himself to be jinxed and taken, to save a young Auror's life. Of course he had, the noble git.

It took a second before Ginny trusted herself to speak. "What are you doing about it?" she demanded evenly, "About finding him?"

"I have my best men on it," Robards assured her, "Reinforcements left for Belarus an hour ago, and lines of communication are open between us. If anyone can find Potter, they can." He sounded confident in this at least, but part of Ginny wondered how much stock to really put in that. After all, Robards was the one who had allowed that unprepared novice to company Harry's team into the field in the first place, and that had ended so spectacularly.

But she couldn't think like that; she wouldn't allow herself to. Harry respected Robards. She knew better than most just how much that respect meant. So she had no choice now but to trust him. She bit her bottom lip.

"And what…" she forced herself to ask now, "what are the odds? That he's…" she forced a breath down her throat, "that he's still alive?"

Robards looked grim. "The fact that Knox's men took him at all rather than killing him is a good sign." He said 'good' in a way that made Ginny wonder if it really was. "It wouldn't have been practical for them to go through the trouble of bringing him, only to immediately kill him once they were free of the inn." He seemed to hesitate slightly before continuing, "But it's no secret who Harry is. No amount of interrogation training on his part is going to keep his identity from them. They already know. And, as I'm sure you're aware, desperate, evil men will do anything to get their way."

He didn't need to say it aloud for Ginny to know what he really meant; the part he wouldn't tell her. That just because the dark wizards hadn't killed Harry right then and there, did not mean he wouldn't have been better off if they had. Because he was alive, he was at the mercy of the wizards and their wands. And Ginny knew first-hand how Death Eaters operated. She'd be surprised if they hadn't begun torturing him already.

She couldn't bring herself to reply just then. Suddenly, she needed to be anywhere but that office. She stood up abruptly, looking at Kingsley first. She wasn't sure, in that moment, how well she managed to hide the feelings in her own eyes. "Keep me updated," she requested of him, "Please."

Kingsley nodded. "I will."

She turned to Robards now and, with a breath, set her eyes on him. Her voice when she spoke betrayed nothing. "Find my husband."

She didn't give the Head of the Auror Department time to respond before she'd turned away and strode for the fireplace once more. She felt the eyes on her as she scooped up a handful of the waiting Floo power and threw it into the flames.

Ginny was almost surprised when her feet hit the floor of her own fireplace seconds later. She had certainly not been the pinnacle of eloquence in saying her destination back in Kingsley's office. She didn't consider it long.

She stepped out onto the rug and glanced around the silent house. Everything was how she'd left it. Her abandoned lunch and newspaper still sat on the coffee table where she'd hastily placed them, next to the toy wand Teddy had forgotten over the weekend; her practice bag was still in the hall, its contents waiting to be sorted through and washed; in the kitchen beyond, her wand still sat atop the counter, where she'd forgotten it after reheating her lunch—she hadn't even brought it with her to the Ministry. The whole house was normal and lived-in, evidence of the home she and Harry had built for themselves within. Yet, somehow, the place seemed far emptier than it ever had before.

Numbly, Ginny made her way out of the living room and up the stairs to the bedroom she and Harry shared. She crossed to the large bed in the center and sat on its edge, pulling his pillow toward her. She buried her face in the fabric, inhaling the lingering scent of him. Then, she was yelling. The pillow muffling the sound, Ginny screamed at the unfairness of it all until she was out of breath.

And then, falling sideways on the bed and pulling the pillow with her, Ginny did, finally, cry. Because she had survived a Horcrux at eleven and a war at sixteen, but she had always had Harry. Because even when she hadn't known where he was, she'd known he was alive. She'd had hope; small as it had been at times, that just maybe everything would be okay. Ginny cried because this wasn't supposed to happen anymore. She was not supposed to be left behind, wondering and worrying about the fate of the man she loved. And, Merlin, she did love him—now more than she ever could have imagined back then, and that made it so much worse; made it hurt that much more. Ginny cried because she could do nothing else with the fear and pain and anger that only built inside her the more she thought about Harry, trapped in an unknown location, with dark wizards intent on doing him harm. Harry, who was supposed to be coming home to her, safe and sound as he always did. Harry, who would not be doing so, who might never do so again. And for whom, she could do absolutely nothing—nothing but wait.

So Ginny cried because, in that moment, it was all she could do.

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 **Thanks for reading! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, and if you have any ideas for future chapters, please let me know.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys. Here is chapter 2.**

 **So my plan for this story is to tell it mostly from Ginny's POV, however I will have a few other POVs included here and there too. This chapter has more of that than most others likely will, but we'll see what happens.**

 **Thank you so much for all the support you all are already giving this fic. I am so excited to continue writing and I'm thrilled you all like the ideas for it already. Enjoy!**

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Hermione Granger drew in a deep breath, steeling herself before entering Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. There was a reason she'd opted to Apparate to Diagon Alley rather than Floo directly to the shop. She'd needed the short walk from the Apparition point to calm herself—and hoped the cool spring air on her face would help some in reducing the redness of her face, though surely there was nothing to be done about the swelling that was surely obvious around her eyes. Not that it would matter. Ron would know she'd recently been crying, and with the news she carried, it likely wouldn't be long before she'd begin doing so again. Frankly, under the circumstances, Hermione couldn't quite find it within herself to care.

The shop door opened before her now to emit a small cluster of teenaged wizards, each bearing numerous purchases from within and laughing jovially. The sound was like a slap across the face, such a stark contrast to the pain and worry that held her heart in a vice grip. Surely no one could be so joyful today. Hermione did not allow herself to dwell on it long as the last of the wizards exited the store and, before she could hesitate further, she reached for the open door and moved to step inside.

WWW was as bright and colorful inside as always. The sheer cheer emitted by the place nearly had tears welling up once more. Hermione fought them back and moved through the shop. George stood behind the counter, assisting a dark-haired mother and daughter with checkout. He offered her a smile and a wave and pointed to the back, but was thankfully too occupied to pay her very close attention. She was grateful.

The store, thank Merlin, was not overly crowded. Verity was busy restocking shelves near the back wall and did not notice Hermione as she slipped past and into the storage room beyond.

It had been a few months now since Ron had left working with the Auror Department and joined George as co-manager of the shop. He'd been happier with his work these past few months than she remembered him being since he'd first become an Auror. Leaving had been a difficult decision but Hermione was glad he'd made it; both for his happiness and the peace of mind it allowed her. Other than the occasional unsuccessful backfiring new addition to the product line, there was little danger associated with running the joke shop. She slept better at night knowing he was safe, that she'd never have to be in Ginny's shoes—

She stopped that thought before it could finish. She felt beyond awful for her soon-to-be sister-in-law and had cried nearly as many tears for her as she had for herself upon hearing the news, but she could not think about her right now. She needed to get through telling Ron first. That would be hard enough. She'd worry about Ginny—who was probably only now finding out herself—later. One thing at a time.

Hermione found Ron atop a ladder, rummaging through the boxes lining a high shelf along the room's rightmost wall. "Comb-a-Chameleons," he listed aloud, assessing the various items. "Sticky Trainers. Nose-Biting Teacups." A Quick Quotes Quill took diligent notes on a piece of parchment floating midair beside him. "Oh, and we need to make more Canary Creams!" he added, glancing toward the parchment to read over the information there. The movement placed her in his line of sight now and he smiled. "Hey, you're early!" He grabbed the inventory list from the air and moved to climb down to her, "I thought we were meeting at one." He reached the bottom and turned to her, "How was—" His grin morphed instantly into concern upon truly seeing her. "What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer now, his arms outstretched in a promise of comfort. It had taken him but one good look at her to know something was very, very wrong. She doubted he'd be much better off once he heard what she had to say.

At once, she was fighting tears again. "'Mione," Ron said, "What's happened? Tell me."

Hermione attempted a steadying breath, biting down on her trembling bottom lip, and looked into the blue eyes of the man she loved, whose ring she proudly wore on her left hand, the man whose heart she'd shatter with her next words. She suddenly couldn't speak. _"Hermione,"_ Ron begged, reaching for her hand, "What is it? Please tell—"

"It's Harry," she managed in barely more than a whisper. He stiffened instantly. She forced herself to go on. "Something went wrong with the mission. He's—he's been captured by Death Eaters. The Aurors don't know where they've taken him. Kingsley's sent teams, but—" She was unable to go on with the sob building in her throat. Tears ran freely down her face now and she did not try to stop them.

Ron had gone pale and looked quite ill. It was a good few seconds before he appeared even to breathe. "What happened?" he managed eventually in a horrified whisper.

Hermione forced herself to answer, swallowing around the boulder currently resting atop her vocal chords. "There was a young Auror sent with the team. He was inexperienced and panicked during the fight. Harry…" She took a shuddering breath. "Harry was Stunned trying to protect him. The—the Death Eaters rallied and fled before the other Aurors could reach them, and they t-took Harry with them."

Ron had grown dangerously calm as she'd spoken. "How many teams were sent out?" he asked now, "And what are the search parameters? Does Robards know—"

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione said quietly, "Kingsley, I'm sure, could tell you. Or Robards. But I…" She only shook her head and didn't bother finishing. "I think they're still trying to figure it out themselves." Ron released a heavy breath and nodded. She eyed him, squeezing the hand still held in his. "Are you alright?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "Of course not," he said evenly. "Not even close." He studied the place just above her left shoulder. "My best friend went off to fight Death Eaters and got himself captured because he's a bloody idiot, and where was I?" His voice broke on the last word and he looked down, studying their clasped hands, "Where was I, Hermione?" he added quietly.

Hermione hadn't thought her heart could break any more than it already had done, but Ron's words, the brokenness and pain within them, the love—that did it. "This isn't your fault, Ron," she said, stepping closer now and drawing his eyes to hers, "You can't blame yourself."

He was already shaking his head. "Harry got taken because of an inexperienced Auror, an Auror who never would have been there with him if I hadn't left. If I was still his partner—if I—if I was…" he couldn't go on and Hermione closed the distance between them, pulling him to her. Ron buried his face in her shoulder and he shook in her arms with the force of his restrained emotion. "I should have been there," he said weakly into the fabric of the Ministry robes she wore. The fabric grew warm under his breath as he spoke into it, allowing her to hold him. "I should have gone too." His voice broke on the last word.

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Ginny wasn't sure exactly how long after returning home from the Ministry she got up from Harry's side of the bed and suddenly needed out, out of their room and out of the house—and preferably out of the whole situation.

It was a wonder she hadn't splinched herself Apparating to the Burrow. She wasn't sure what drew her here exactly, except the comfort her mother's presence promised and the fact that she suddenly did not want to be alone.

The sound of her Apparation drew Molly to the back door, a puzzled expression on her face. She held her wand loosely at her side, but did not look particularly concerned. The wards around the house were well placed, but they'd all learned to err on the side of caution. Even with the war over, the habits had largely remained just that.

Her mother's puzzlement quickly vanished upon seeing her daughter crossing the paddock toward her, but she did not smile as she normally would and it wasn't very hard to guess why. Ginny was not sure what she looked like, but she was fairly certain it was not pretty. Her hair alone was likely a right mess; unbound as it still was from the shower she'd taken—an hour ago? Two? Her mother was able to sniff out negative emotions in her children better than any Kneazle, and even with the distance still between them, Ginny was not at all surprised to see the hint of worry beginning to cross Molly's face.

Normally, she went to great lengths to avoid her mother's characteristic fussing, but right now she found she was oddly grateful for it. She wasn't sure she had any more tears left to cry at the moment, but she was not ready to be strong for everyone else and her mother was one person around whom that wouldn't matter—considering her first choice was currently unaccounted for.

Ginny didn't allow that thought to get very far.

"Ginny?" her mother asked as she drew nearer, "What's wrong?"

Ginny only shook her head, slowing to a stop before the door. "I just… Can I come in?"

Molly blinked. "Of course, dear. You know you don't have to ask." She stepped aside for her to lead the way, "Come on, I'll make us some tea." Ginny allowed her to guide her into the kitchen without a word and took a seat in her customary chair at the table while Molly went to magically warm the kettle. Ginny watched her silently.

"Here we are," she said a moment later, setting a steaming cuppa before her.

"Thanks, Mum," she said, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.

"I made chocolate biscuits for Teddy this morning. Want some?"

 _Teddy._ Ginny hadn't even thought about him. Harry was probably the little boy's favorite person on earth. What was she supposed to tell him? He was far too young to understand and he'd already lost so much. He couldn't lose his godfather too.

Ginny thought she'd depleted her supply of tears for the time being, but she was suddenly choking up again. She managed a quick shake of her head in answer, biting down on her trembling lip. Her mother just studied her with her mouth set in a worried line. Silently, she pulled out the chair beside Ginny and sat down. "What's the matter, dear?" When Ginny did not look up from a scratch in the tabletop, Molly laid a hand atop her wrist. "Please talk to me."

Ginny met her mother's eyes but couldn't form the words. She hadn't given much thought to the fact that she would have to tell her about Harry, and that once she did, her mother would be heartbroken. She had not considered that she'd have to be the bearer of such news. She wasn't sure she could do it, had no idea where to start, but her mother was not one to let something like this go without answer. Ginny took a deep breath. "I…"

She was saved the task of continuing by the sound of the Floo in the living room, followed by her father's voice as it called, "Molly?" She knew by the tone of his voice that he already knew.

Her mother straightened in her chair, her eyes still on Ginny, and called, "In here, Arthur." Ginny's father appeared in the doorway a moment later, his sad eyes instantly falling on her.

"Ah," he said quietly, looking to Molly now, "She's told you then?"

"Ginny has told me absolutely nothing at all," she informed him with a frantic edge to her voice now, "And for goodness sake, someone had _better_ start talking."

Ginny met her father's eyes, both an invitation and a plea. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and then looked at Molly, pain and trepidation flashing once more in his blue eyes. But he told her what had happened in Belarus, that Harry was missing and no one had a clue as to where he'd been taken; no one knew if he was still alive.

Molly went pale, a hand covering her mouth, which had fallen open as she listened. Ginny only studied the table again, struggling once more to hold back the tears filling her eyes. Arthur tightened his grip on her shoulder, squeezing consolingly.

"Oh, poor Harry," Molly breathed, tears pooling in her own eyes. She looked from her husband to Ginny then, understanding clear beneath the tears. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she said, already moving toward where she sat. Ginny found she welcomed her mother's arms wrapping around her and pulling her into her chest. It was, after all, why she'd come. Some part of her, larger than both the part that wanted to lock herself away from the world and wallow alone, and the larger part that wanted to head straight to Belarus herself and tear the country apart until she found her husband, unrealistic and illegal as she knew that might be; larger than both of those was the desire for this, the comfort from her mother. She was a twenty-one year old married woman, yes, but she was also scared and helpless, and for some reason, if only temporarily, her mother's embrace made the overwhelming weight a little more bearable.

Her father's hand remained on her shoulder as Molly had hugged her. It slid to her back now and rubbed up and down in another silent offer of comfort. Ginny didn't think she'd ever been so grateful for her parents. She didn't deserve them.

She was far from okay, but for the moment, the prospect of facing the rest of this terrible day seemed a slightly—very slightly— less daunting task.

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Hermione had an afternoon meeting that could not be rescheduled and left Ron shortly after two to prepare for it. Their lunch plans had all but disintegrated under the weight of the news about Harry and they'd spent a quiet hour in the apartment above the store, forcing down fish finger sandwiches from the Leaky Cauldron and trying valiantly to pretend the world was not falling out from beneath them with the loss of their best friend.

Needless to say, Ron had enjoyed far nicer lunch dates.

He watched his fiancée disappear now in the cloud of green flame and remained staring at the spot for another few seconds before he looked away. The prospect of going back downstairs and finishing his shift seemed an impossible task. He spent another minute or two staring at the door that opened to the stairs, fighting with himself. He had responsibilities as co-manager of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but he had a far greater responsibility as Harry's best friend and he was having a hard time fighting off the feeling that he could be doing more.

It was a thought that had first struck him moments after Hermione had told him what happened, and the idea had regularly crossed his mind every few minutes since. He found little reason to fight the plan forming in his mind. With each step down to the store below, Ron grew more convinced and when he reached the bottom, he crossed to George, the latter busy straightening products on a nearby shelf. Thankfully, the shop was momentarily empty.

His older brother grinned at his approach. "How was lunch?"

"It could have been better," Ron answered him, not bothering to feign positive emotion.

George did not seem particularly concerned. "Trouble in paradise?"

"No." He hesitated. "I—er, I'm going to need to take the rest of today off."

George grew serious now. "Is everything okay?"

Ron took a deep breath. "No."

His brother's brown eyes held his own. "Tell me what's wrong and you can have as long as you want," he said.

Ron wasn't happy about it—he didn't want to be the one to break this news, not to anyone, but he did. He told George about Harry, and he let him think that was the sole reason for his request for time off. As it was, his brother looked like he'd been hit in the face with a rather large brick. Ron was not ignorant of the fact that George loved Harry too, that his whole family did. Harry had become such an integral part of all their lives over the years. But he did not tell him more.

"Merlin," George breathed now, "I'm sorry, Ron. And Ginny—" he broke off with a shake of his head, like he couldn't quite handle thinking about what their sister was surely going through. "Go," he said then, lifting a hand to Ron's shoulder, "Take the rest of the day. Verity and I can handle it."

Ron nodded. He couldn't speak suddenly, but he hoped George could read the thanks in his expression. He turned away then, shedding his magenta robes and hanging them on the hook in the back. He felt his brother's eyes on his back as he made for the door, but he did not look at him again. He wasn't sure what expression he wore on his face.

Ron stepped out into the cool spring afternoon and turned for the Apparition point, already picturing his destination in his mind. Harry had been captured and no one knew where he was. Ron felt infinitely responsible despite Hermione's repeated reassurances. He should have been there; he should have stopped it. He blamed himself. Harry had to be alive; he had to make it home.

Ron knew what he had to do.

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 **Thank you for reading!  
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	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! Here is chapter 3. I'm hoping to get this story moving along a bit now. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. You all are awesome and I hope you enjoy!**

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Gawain Robards' office had not at all changed in the months it had been since Ron left the Auror Department, and standing in it now, having been waved in by the secretary, even under the dreadful circumstances, the déjà vu was not quite lost on him. The Head of the Auror Department studied Ron from behind his desk, hands folded before him.

"Mr. Robards," Ron greeted his former boss with a nod.

"Weasley," Robards responded in kind, "What can I do for you?"

"No disrespect, sir, but I think you know why I'm here."

Robards huffed a sigh. "We're doing all we can to find him, Weasley. Potter's one of my best. I've got almost the whole department working on finding him. Every man I can spare."

"Well, you've got one more now."

The older wizard stared at him. "What are you on about?"

Ron lifted his chin a bit. Robards was an imposing man in any setting and Ron had always found him intimidating. But not today. Not with Harry missing and himself with an ability to do something about it. "I want you to send me over there," he said bravely.

Robards' eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry, Weasley, have you forgotten that you resigned from the Auror Department and are no longer in a position to be sent anywhere?"

"No, sir, I have not," Ron said plainly, "But you know all the hours I put in to tracking down Death Eaters. I worked on the Belarus case right up until the day I left, and, frankly, the only reason this situation exists at all is because I resigned and an untrained Auror was sent in my place."

"I suggest you don't go jumping to conclusions like that," Robards said firmly, "And regardless, you _left_ the department, Weasley. You can't just come waltzing in here and expect to be allowed access to any case that strikes your fancy simply because civilian life bores you."

"All due respect, sir," Ron answered, struggling to keep his temper in check. "You and I both know this is not just some case that has 'struck my fancy.'" Getting angry would get him nowhere and he'd known before he'd even arrived that his former boss would require convincing. He went on now, "You said yourself that Harry is your best. With all the training required, the number of experienced Aurors here is still well below what it was before the war. I only left three months ago. Had I stayed here, I wouldn't even have needed recertification yet. So I'm asking you to take advantage of my help."

"Weasley, I can't just—"

"You've already spared every man you're able to. I'm not asking you to pay me or even to send me there with any real authority at all. But Harry's my best friend and my brother, and I can't just sit around here waiting to hear what happens when I'm trained and capable of going over and doing something about it." He paused to take a breath. "Please, Mr. Robards. Please let me help. Let me go get him."

The head of the Auror Department studied Ron as he finished, his face betraying nothing. Ron held his gaze, waiting as Robards considered him. The older wizard gave absolutely nothing away, but, somehow, Ron thought he might be making some progress. "You know how messy cases can get when Aurors make them personal," Robards said now, "You're as close to this as they come, Weasley. I don't need anything else happening over there if you take things too far."

"I worked with Harry here for nearly four years, sir. And that doesn't include all the rubbish we dealt with before joining the Aurors. It's always been personal. If anything, it made us better, made what we were doing that much more important. We always got it done." Ron paused for a short moment, gauging his former boss before going on. "So, using my relationship with Harry as grounds for denying me the right to help find him… well, frankly, sir, it's bloody stupid."

Robard's eyebrows shot up at that and another silent moment passed between them as he studied him. Ron did not look away, even as the Auror's stare made his skin crawl a bit. After a few seconds—or maybe it had been an hour, Robards leaned back in his chair. "You've got some nerve, Weasley," he said, crossing his arms across his chest. Ron's heart sank the slightest bit, but he stayed where he was, waiting for the dismissal. He couldn't help but blink at Robards' next words. "Thirty minutes," he said gruffly. "I've got another team heading out on a Portkey in thirty minutes. You go with them then or not at all. Goodwin's in charge of operations over there, and I swear, Weasley, if you so much as blink an eye out of line, I'll have you arrested just because I can. You are not an Auror. You have no authority. Act like it."

Ron forced himself to nod. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He turned to leave then, already running down the mental list of things he needed to do in the next twenty-five minutes. He'd expected to have enough time to pack and perhaps let Hermione know in person what he planned to do, but there'd be no time for that now. She wouldn't be out of her meeting for another hour at least.

Just as well, Ron supposed, she couldn't hex him through a letter.

* * *

Hours later, Ginny was still at the Burrow. It wasn't that she was avoiding going home to her too-empty house, though she had to admit, if only to herself, that the idea of stepping back through the front door with the possibility that Harry might never again walk through it with her gave her pause. She'd go back though, she told herself. She would, just not quite yet. Reality could wait a few more hours.

She currently stood beside the sink, peeling potatoes by hand—her contribution toward preparation of the stew her mother planned to make for dinner. A spell would have been far quicker, but Ginny, though she was slowly improving, was still not completely comfortable with many of the more domestic spells her mother so often employed without a second thought. Part of her wished her classes at Hogwarts had focused a bit more on mundane spellwork and less on the things she'd likely never use again. However, much of what she learned, excluding Defense Against the Dark Arts her fourth year and nearly everything her sixth year, had allowed her to survive a war so she supposed she couldn't criticize the curriculum too much. And she did appreciate the repetitiveness of the work now. It gave her something to do with herself at least.

She had never considered herself all that masterful a cook, even with all the years she'd spent doing exactly what she was now, helping her mother prepare meal after meal for their large family. Despite her efforts, Ginny's attempts at the same recipes always came out different somehow; her gravies always looked too lumpy and her tarts always just missed that perfect golden brown her mother's achieved. Harry was never anything less than complementary, but he did do most of the cooking himself when he was home. He claimed he was used to it after growing up with the task and didn't mind cooking for someone who actually appreciated it. Ginny never complained—he was a rather good cook, second only to her mother and maybe the house elves in the Hogwarts kitchens.

Her mother had conveniently stepped out minutes earlier, supposedly under the guise of putting fresh linens on the bed in Ginny's old room in case she decided to spend the night. Ginny hadn't suggested anything of the sort herself, though she couldn't deny the idea was tempting if only so she wouldn't have to sleep alone in a bed that was far too empty and big without its other occupant, but Molly had insisted nonetheless. Ginny wondered now if her mother hadn't just taken the opportunity to disappear for a few minutes to shed the tears for Harry she'd been so valiantly holding back all day—for her sake, undoubtedly. And while she did not object to the sudden silence and solitude of the kitchen now, she found it difficult to keep from dwelling on the horrible truth of the situation—had it really only been early this afternoon that Kingsley's face had appeared in her fireplace? It seemed an eternity had passed with no news. Even if there was nothing to report, she needed to see for herself that every possible effort was being made to find her husband, and a full day seemed more than generous on her part. She decided to go back to the Ministry at first light and demand answers; there was no chance of her sleeping tonight anyway.

The sound of nearby Apparition drew her attention to the window, where, across the paddock, a familiar witch now wasted no time in crossing to the Burrow's back door. Ginny stayed where she was, stripping the second to last potato of its skins, and wondered if Hermione was looking for her specifically. She'd find out soon enough.

The door opened a moment later to reveal her soon-to-be sister-in-law, looking as strained as she had seen her in a long while, and also surprisingly angry. She came up slightly short at the sight of Ginny by the worktop—maybe she hadn't been looking for her then. Hermione half-breathed her name and began moving toward her.

"Please don't," Ginny begged before she could get within touching range. Hermione hesitated, watching her. "I've done more than enough crying today as it is," she explained evenly. It wasn't a lie and regardless of the composure she had managed over the past hour, she knew she'd likely just as easily break down again if Hermione embraced her.

Her sister-in-law took a shaky breath now. "Sorry, of course you have. How, er… how are you?" Ginny half-shrugged a shoulder. Hermione watched her. "Is anyone else here?"

"Mum's around somewhere." She gestured vaguely toward the stairs. "I think she needed a few minutes alone."

Hermione's expression turned pained. The older witch continued watching her. "They'll find him," she said gently.

Ginny focused on peeling the last of the potatoes and did not look up as she replied, "I'm really more worried about the state he'll be in when they do."

Hermione drew in a quick, shuddering breath and she felt a bit bad, even if it was the truth. She hated it even more than Hermione did. "You can't think like that, Ginny," the older witch said now, "It will only make things worse for you."

"He's been taken by Death Eaters, Hermione. He's _Harry Potter_. He killed Voldemort himself. Even without the dozens of others he's personally taken out or sent to Azkaban, do you honestly believe they aren't going to punish him severely for that?"

"Listen to yourself," Hermione said in little more than a whisper, "Ginny, you know how good he is. If anyone can hold his own out there, it's Harry. You have to believe that." She reached out a tentative hand and laid it on Ginny's arm. "It's only been one day. You can't lose hope. Not yet."

"I'm not," she responded with a sigh, "I just hate not knowing what's happening. I wish I could go over there and get him myself." She bit down on her bottom lip, which had again started trembling against her will."

Hermione's reply was slightly clipped. "I understand, believe me." After the slightest pause, she added, "However, Ron's already one-upped us all there."

Ginny looked at her now. "What do you mean?"

The anger she'd noticed earlier returned now as Hermione reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. "My meeting ran long this afternoon," she said, "A Ministry owl was waiting for me when I got home." She held out the parchment—a letter—for her to take. Curiosity gnawing at her, Ginny wiped her hands on her jeans and took it from her to read. A familiar, messy scrawl stared back at her:

 _Hermione—_

 _I'm sorry to tell you this over a letter but I don't have time to find you in person. I've convinced Robards to let me help and I'm leaving on a Portkey to Belarus in a few minutes. I know I left the Aurors and you're happy that I did—I know you hate me leaving you at home to worry, but this is Harry we're talking about. I can't just stay behind and wait. I have to do something. I know you don't think I should, but I feel responsible, okay? I should have been over there with him—if I had, he wouldn't be in this situation. So, I need to do this. Please don't be mad._

 _Apologize to George for me—he knows about Harry, but nothing else, and tell Mum not to worry. You can show this to Ginny if you want, let her know I'm going to find him. Tell her I'll bring him home._

 _I love you, Hermione. And I'm sorry. You know how important this is. I'll make it back, I promise. Here's hoping you let me live long enough when we do to marry you._

 _All my love,_

 _Ron_

Ginny read through the letter once. Twice. And then she simply stared down at the parchment, not quite believing the words her bother had written there. _I have to do something… this is Harry we're talking about… Tell her I'll bring him home…_

"He's… he's gone to Belarus?" she asked at last, even with the proof right in front of her.

Hermione exhaled in reply. "If he does manage to not get himself killed, I might just finish the job when he gets home."

"You didn't know?" She shook her head. Ginny glanced between Hermione and the parchment she still held. When her eyes fell on the older witch once more, she allowed herself to study her, taking in the hard set of her mouth, the worry in her brown eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

Hermione sighed. "I suppose. I mean, I want to flay him for not telling me what he was planning, but, well…" She blinked hard before continuing, her voice slightly thick. "If anyone stands a chance of finding Harry, it's Ron. I know he won't rest until he does, and if I can't go myself…" she trailed off, but she didn't need to speak for Ginny to hear the rest of her thought.

 _If I can't go myself, I'm glad he is._

Ginny nodded and breathed a slow sigh of her own. Hermione watched her. "You think he's still alive?" she found herself asking before she'd really thought about it.

Hermione's reply was almost immediate. "Yes. Until I have a reason to believe otherwise." Ginny took a deep breath and then nodded again. That sounded as good a strategy as any, and she couldn't deny her husband's skill with a wand. If anyone would survive being captured like that, it _was_ Harry.

She met her soon-to-be sister-in-law's eyes again and before she really knew what was happening, Hermione had closed the remaining distance between them and her arms were around her. Ginny hugged her back now, her chest tightening. But she thought it wasn't as bad as it could have been. For the first time that day, the tears did not immediately come and Ginny found, even if only a little, that she had more hope than before.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and stay tuned!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi! Hoping you all had a lovely Christmas. I wrote this entire chapter today and I have to admit I'm pretty proud of it. Things are finally taking off with this story and I'm excited. Thank you all for the continued support!**

* * *

The next two days were perhaps the longest of Ginny's life. Despite her mother's protests that first night, she did, in fact, return to her own house—only to spend a sleepless night staring at the ceiling, fighting tears while she tried and failed not to dwell on the facts. Any relief or hope she might have felt from her family's support and Ron's efforts to get Harry back vanished once she was alone in the dark confines of the room she'd shared with him for the past two years. The fear and helplessness and worry became suffocating once more.

The second night was no better. Maybe an hour or two before dawn, she gave up waiting for sleep—and likely nightmares—to claim her and padded out to the living room. She sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, and stared at the fire, tears falling, in silence. She was still there in the morning, exhaustion having gotten the best of her at some point, eyes swollen and neck stiff from the measly hour of fitful sleep in an awkward position.

Her only salvation came in the form of Quidditch practice every morning, which was brutal and unforgiving, especially with her sleep-deprived and emotionally strung-out body. But it provided enough of a distraction to keep her sane. The situation with Harry was not public knowledge for many obvious reasons, not the least of which was the public outcry that would have resulted from it, so her team members, while they suspected something was amiss with her performance somewhat below her usual standard of excellence, did not know the reasons behind her dampened reflexes and the completely open shot she had no excuse for missing. Gwenog, however, cornered her after practice ended on Wednesday.

Ginny stood before her coach, meeting her unyielding and disapproving gaze and wondering if she should have felt more fear in that moment than she did. Gwenog Jones was intimidating on a good day, downright terrifying on others; and the glare she cast over Ginny now was not a warm one. But compared to the giant of fear and worry that had loomed day and night since that conversation in Kingley's office, her coach's annoyance was nothing at all. Gwenog, her arms crossed, continued staring her down. "I'm only going to say this once, Potter," she said firmly, "I don't know what's going on with you—I don't want to know. It's your business and frankly I don't care. But you look like all hell and you're flying worse. We play Kenmare next week and I need everyone on their game before we do that. So you'd better take whatever it is that's distracting you and either get over it or find some way to work around it while you're on that field. Remind me why I made you my starting Chaser your second season and prove that you deserve to play in that match next week. Is that understood?"

Ginny simply nodded. "Yes."

Gwenog studied her for another moment before she uncrossed her arms. "Alright." She pointed her chin toward the locker rooms. "Go shower, Potter. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ginny moved to obey and while she showered and dressed, she promised herself she would do better. Clearly, dwelling on the situation was doing little to bring Harry home and even less for her career. Harry wouldn't want her to let her playing suffer, but even more than that, she was Ginevra Potter. She had not earned herself that last name by sitting around and wallowing every time something bad happened. She'd survived a war and had since earned a name for herself for her Quidditch abilities. She'd loved Harry since she was eleven years old, but he did not define her. And her heart was broken, yes, and a larger part of her than she wanted to admit genuinely feared what would happen if he never came home again, but she had a life and responsibilities that she could not and did not want to shirk in favor of merely being miserable. So Ginny promised herself that, at least during the day, at least in public, she would be strong. She did not want sympathy or pity, and she did not want attention she did not deserve, and if she looked back at her performance the past few days, she was a bit disgusted with herself. Because it was not that she had not been trying—quite the opposite really, considering how much more difficult everything physical was in her current state, but she could have tried harder, been better. She could have pushed through the fatigue and pain—Merlin knew she'd done it enough during her Harpies training, and not to mention the utter hell she'd endured during her Sixth Year at Hogwarts. Instead, she'd barely kept up, and that was not okay; not to her.

Harry would make it home; he had to and he would. He always did. And Ginny, while she waited, would not worry herself into a fit and she would not allow herself to grow weak and peaky because of it; she would be of no use to anyone like that. Harry was undoubtedly fighting, wherever he was, and so would she. For him, and for herself. Gwenog was right.

Of course, all of this was much easier said than done, but Ginny would try. It would get her boss—and also her mother—off her case at least.

Sleep still eluded her for a large part of that night, but she did manage to get a solid two hours in bed before a nightmare woke her. She stared up at the ceiling, willing her breathing to slow and the images of Hagrid carrying what she'd believed to be seventeen year-old Harry's dead body from the Forbidden Forest as Voldemort declared his imminent victory. Once she'd done that, she'd glanced out the window, bearing the earliest marks of coming sunrise, and decided to get up.

It was as much an effort as ever to drag herself out of the house that morning, but she was at practice ten minutes early and had already flown several warm-up laps around the pitch by the time the rest of her teammates arrived. Gwenog gave her the smallest approving nod as she landed for the start of practice.

She was still exhausted and scared to death, but she was trying. For Harry, she was trying.

* * *

Hermione showed up at the door that evening with takeaway in one hand and a bottle of Muggle wine in the other. "What are you doing here?" Ginny asked upon opening the door for her.

"I can't stare at the four walls of my office anymore just now," Hermione explained, "and I didn't want to eat dinner alone." She held up the wine. "Also, I thought you could maybe use this."

Ginny smirked, stepping aside for her to enter. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

They forwent any semblance of decency and ate from the takeaway containers on the sofa in the living room, feet propped up beside their wine glasses on the coffee table.

Hermione kept the conversation light, safe. Ginny was grateful. Her brother's fiancée certainly had her infuriating moments, but she'd become one of Ginny's best friends over the years she'd known her. Out of everyone, she knew Hermione likely understood better than most what she was going through—enough to leave it be.

In the end, it was Ginny who broached the subject of Harry at all. Hermione had been in the process of discussing the woes of wedding planning when she did. She and Ron had gotten engaged, to everyone's joy—and immense relief— over the past year's Christmas holidays, and since then, while there hadn't yet been very much progress in the wedding's planning, the two had managed to settle on a date just a few weeks earlier for the following Spring. In the time since, Hermione, being herself, had created numerous to-do lists and was well on her way to completing everything months ahead of time. At the moment, it was the guest list she was concerned about. "I have plenty of cousins on my mum's side of the family," she was saying, "but I haven't seen or spoken to a single one of them in years. I don't see why I should have to invite any of them, regardless of what anyone says. Not to mention, the more of my family that attends, the greater the risk of someone blowing it and using magic in front of Muggles. And frankly, that's a lot of paperwork I could do without."

Ginny took a sip of wine. "I never thought I'd live to see the day Hermione Granger wished to avoid more work."

Hermione only made a face at her. "Just because I don't _abhor_ it like some people I could mention doesn't mean I've got nothing better to do than fill out incident reports for MLE and the Obliviators all day."

"I know. I was only kidding."

Hermione sighed. "I just can't believe how much goes into all this." She met Ginny's gaze. "You got married if far less time than we're taking, and yet I hardly remember you looking worried at all. How?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Between you and my mum, Hermione, I hardly planned any of my wedding at all. I had nothing to worry _over._ " Hermione blinked and considered this. "Why don't you ask my mum to help you? Honestly, she _lives_ for that sort of stuff."

"I know," Hermione said, "I probably should. But my mum wants to be involved too, and since I'm her only child I feel like I ought to let her. She's still working, though, so it's hard to find time. And Ron, though I love him to death, is absolutely useless with this stuff. He'd make everything orange and Quidditch-themed if I let him." She shook her head. Ginny actually managed a laugh—and wondered belatedly if she'd done so at all since finding out about…

"Have you heard anything from him?" she dared ask now. It had been a few days now since he'd left for Belarus himself.

Hermione met her eyes and then sighed. "Not much," she admitted, "I bumped into Kingsley briefly this morning and he said they're still searching but haven't found very much of use yet. But no news is probably good news." Good news in that there was no body to discover. Yet.

Ginny tried not to let her heart sink at that. She hadn't actually been expecting anything different.

Hermione eyed her carefully, considering her. "How are you holding up?" she asked at last, voice gentle.

Ginny sighed. "About as well as can be, I guess." She huffed what was maybe supposed to be a laugh. She honestly wasn't sure. "I got in trouble with Gwenog yesterday. She basically told me to get my head in the game or don't play Kenmare next week."

Hermione looked pained. "That's awful," she said, "How could you possibly be expected to focus on anything under the circumstances?"

Ginny shrugged. "She doesn't know the circumstances. And she doesn't care. It's her job to be hard on me and it's mine to put everything else aside and perform well on the pitch. I wasn't doing that, so I probably deserved it."

Hermione's look of disapproval could probably have gone up against Ginny's mother's and come in a close second. It softened into gentler concern as she studied her face. "Have you been sleeping?" she asked quietly.

Ginny only shrugged again in answer. Hermione's frown deepened. Ginny sighed. "I'm fine, Hermione. I'm doing my best." She shook her head, absently stroking the band on her left ring finger—a habit she found she'd developed over the past few days. "You were all away for a year before the war, and I didn't know if he was okay for months…" She shrugged once more. This wasn't like that, but it seemed like a valid point nonetheless.

"It was different then," was all Hermione said, seconding Ginny's thoughts. "He wasn't alone." Ginny nodded and then drained the remaining wine from her glass. She refilled it as Hermione got to her feet. "Want me to put a film on?" she asked, thankfully changing the subject and moving toward the Muggle television Harry had brought home shortly after they'd been married.

Ginny shrugged a shoulder. "No romance," she said, leaning back against the sofa cushions.

Hermione stayed late and between her lack of sleep over the past few days and the wine she'd had with dinner, Ginny's eyes were drooping as the older witch stepped into the Floo shortly after midnight and vanished in a plume of green. She stood there for an extra minute, studying the spot where she had vanished before she turned and grabbed the leftovers from the coffee table. She stored them in the refrigerator before trudging upstairs. She ran herself a hot shower and stood under the spray, letting it run over her face and down her back. When she got out at last, she merely wrapped a towel around herself and padded out to the bedroom. She donned an old T-shirt of Harry's and a pair of knickers, and crawled into bed, pulling Harry's pillow toward her. After so many nights of sleeping with it, hardly any of his familiar, comforting scent remained, but she buried her face in it anyway. And though she knew it was a side-effect of sheer exhaustion and alcohol, Ginny welcomed the sleep that finally claimed her.

She awoke at dawn with tear tracts down her face and no memory of the dreams that had caused them. But she had slept, and lousy as she still felt, it was a vast improvement to what it had been.

One day at a time, it was all she could do; take it one day at a time and pray she would never have to learn to cope without Harry forever.

* * *

Belarus was a miserable place. At least, right now, under these specific circumstances, Ron thought so. Normally, it was probably quite a nice spot indeed, with its towns and history. Ron thought Hermione might have liked to visit a country like this in the summer. He might even have enjoyed it himself. Currently, however, calling the conditions unpleasant might have been almost a compliment.

The Aurors' safe house was located in the village of Hubina, on the outskirts of what could only be described as a farm that had long since been abandoned and left to rot, during one of the coldest springs the country had seen in decades. In short, it was sad and miserable, and Ron wanted to find Harry and get home as fast as humanly possible.

This last part was proving much more difficult in practice, as he'd been here a grand total of two and a half days now and in that time, the team had accomplished essentially nothing. Not that they hadn't been working tirelessly—they had, they were just careful to do everything by the books and according to protocol, and frankly, Ron had little patience for protocol while his best friend's life hung in the balance. He and Harry had always followed it in the loosest terms possible. Ron had never realized how thankful he was for that until now.

They'd infiltrated all known Death Eater hideouts throughout the country and had turned up little in regard to finding Harry. They'd gotten lucky with a few and managed a handful of arrests, but even the skilled interrogators of the Auror Department made little progress. The Death Eater lackeys they'd found simply knew nothing about a captured Auror—they didn't dare leak Harry's identity. They were lowlifes, but not any affiliated with Reuben Knox.

The teams allowed Ron to tag along—some more begrudgingly than others. Few listened to what he had to say, even while he'd outranked most of them while he worked among them—this might have rubbed him wrong normally; right now, he had bigger fish to fry. Those under Harry's command, however, seemed glad of his help, so he tended to stick with them when he could.

Still no sign of Harry, after nearly three days and all available hands on deck. Not so much as a whisper from Knox's affiliates. No sign of any other Death Eater strongholds in the area—something nagged in the back of Ron's mind at the thought. No real success from any of the scouting teams constantly coming and going from the safe house. No sign of much of anything, really.

And Ron was growing restless.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and happy new year!  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! Thank you all for the support thus far for this story. I love hearing your thoughts and I'm so glad you all seem to be enjoying it. Enjoy this next update and, as always, feel free to leave a review with your reactions and ideas!**

* * *

Ron followed the group of rundown Aurors back into the safe house, disappointed and on edge. They'd just returned from raiding the last known Death Eater hideout in the country and had come back completely empty-handed. The teams were still out scouting for more but with every day that passed, Ron knew, the chances of finding Harry in time grew increasingly slimmer.

He'd been so confident in his decision to come over here. He'd honestly believed they'd be able to recover his best friend and he'd be there to help. He'd convinced himself that coming was the right choice, one that would make a difference. He'd thought it would be okay.

Now he wasn't so sure. He hated that he wasn't, but he knew how these things worked. He'd been an Auror for four years and he'd seen many terrible things even before that. And he wasn't sure he wanted to be there if things turned out badly, if they were too late, if Harry was…

If Harry was dead.

The thought echoed violently through him, its sense of wrongness reverberating in his very bones, and he quickly pushed it out of his mind. He couldn't think about that. Not now. Preferably not ever.

But he still couldn't deny the reality that pressed down on him like a boulder, even while he wished it weren't true.

Why was it always Harry?

Before he'd fully committed to the decision, Ron found himself crossing the small kitchen to where Joel Goodwin sat at the table, nursing a cup of ridiculously strong tea and intensely studying a file before him—maybe searching, as they all were, for something he'd missed.

From what Ron knew of him, Goodwin was a good man. He held the same rank Harry did—and Ron had—within the Aurors. They'd worked with him on a handful of cases over the past few years, but their gifts were usually focused in different areas. He was friendly, if not a bit introverted at times, and he was a good Auror, a decent leader. Ron didn't have a problem with him, though he was a bit concerned about the slightly older wizard's tendency to lean toward the safe side of protocol. He'd found that when it came to Death Eaters, a little flexibility was often necessary. But Goodwin was in charge here and as Robards had made perfectly clear, Ron wasn't to question his decisions.

The Auror looked up at his approach and nodded in acknowledgement. "Hey, Ron," he said stoically.

"Joel," Ron replied, nodding in kind.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, sounding as though he already guessed what he would say.

"That was the last hideout," Ron said simply.

Goodwin sighed. "Yeah."

"What do we do now?"

"Same thing we've been doing," Goodwin answered, "Keep searching. We'll start from the beginning, comb through everything we've got again. There's obviously another safe house somewhere that we haven't found yet."

"And if that doesn't work?"

Goodwin leveled him with a look. "It will."

"How can we be sure Knox and his lackeys are even in the country anymore? If they were smart, they'd have taken Harry as far as possible the moment they grabbed him."

"True," Goodwin allowed, "but I don't have to tell you how heavily guarded borders throughout the continent have been since the war. No one wants Death Eaters running lose in their country."

"And yet they made it here. Obviously they have their ways."

"It would have been a huge risk, especially while holding a skilled Auror against his will."

"And if they did manage it?"

"There's no proof of that," the Auror said evenly. "And regardless, we've got no jurisdiction anywhere else. The Belarusian Ministry has given us free reign to take down Knox, but you know as well as I do that the others are not usually so generous."

"And you don't think we should be working to convince them to help?"

"We have been and they are. But they have their own methods and they want to handle it themselves. No one is unaware of the importance here, but other wizarding governments don't take kindly to us inserting ourselves without going through the proper channels."

"Yeah, because Voldemort was a _real_ stickler for the rules," Ron said sardonically, "He was just as much a threat to other countries as he was to us. He would have turned his attention to them as soon as he gained total control back home."

"I know—"

"They owe Harry just as much as we do. Someone ought to remind them of that."

Goodwin allowed him to finish, resigned. "Look, Ron," he said now, "I know how close you and Harry are. And I appreciate that you came out here to help, but I'm in charge of operations over here and I'm responsible for making sure nothing happens to anyone else. Harry's my friend too—" Ron doubted that—"and I want to find him just as badly as you do. But we can't handle this differently than we would any other case just because it hits close to home. There are rules in place for a reason and we need to follow them."

Ron studied him. "So you won't even consider pursuing other options until the smarmy bureaucrats in these countries give the okay. You do realize that might never happen, right?"

"Until we have adequate evidence that the Death Eaters are no longer in Belarus, we have no choice." His gaze softened slightly as he looked at Ron. "We've got to let our fellow law enforcement agencies to do their jobs and trust that if and until we're given clearance to move in ourselves, they can handle it."

Ron had no such faith. He gritted his teeth. This conversation was going nowhere. Logically, he knew it wasn't Goodwin's fault; he was just doing his job. Neighboring countries had been skeptical of the Ministry ever since the war. Kingsley continued to make changes to the way it operated as a whole and relations were slowly being built back up, but many places were still distrustful. Former ministers had, after all, allowed the government to become overrun with Voldemort's lackeys or had been Death Eaters themselves. What happened in the United Kingdom had stood to affect other places as well and Ron couldn't exactly blame them for being overzealous about the safety of their borders now.

But he could blame them for being so bloody difficult. This wasn't about national security, it was about Harry—Harry who'd saved the other wizarding governments just as much as he'd saved his own and who was currently at the mercy of Death Eaters. He deserved better, and Ron fully intended to give it to him.

If Goodwin wanted proof, he would give him proof. Harry might have been the Auror's friend, but he was Ron's brother—closer than that even, and he was not going down without a fight. Not for this. Not for Harry.

He had no proof outside of his own conviction, but Ron had learned long ago to rely on his instincts—and those instincts told him Knox was no longer in Belarus. If he were, he'd have been found already. He wasn't _that_ good.

Somehow, Ron would find evidence, and then they could move. They were getting Harry back, even if he had to do it all himself.

* * *

Practice ended an hour early on Friday and Ginny, after freshening up in the locker room, decided to stop by the Leaky Cauldron for lunch to spare herself from having to cook. She ate alone, talking intermittently with Hannah Abbott as the witch stopped at her table between customers. She received numerous smiles and nods of greeting from witches and wizards who had no idea what she'd endured the past few days, what she was still enduring even if she was growing better at compartmentalizing the worry and fear, at locking it away until she was alone and better able to address it. Ginny returned the carefree acknowledgements, even while she feared the smile she plastered on looked as artificial as it felt. She was used to the attention by now, both as a professional Quidditch player and the wife of the Savior of the Wizarding World, but that didn't mean she always enjoyed it—most of the time, quite the opposite was true. She finished her food faster than strictly necessary and, with a wave at Hannah across the bar, left more than enough to cover the bill on the table and made to leave.

She entered Diagon Alley with the intention of finding an Apparition point to Apparate home, but as she stepped out onto the wizarding street, the prospect of going back to her too-quiet house suddenly seemed less than appealing. And she did need new Chaser's gloves. Quality Quidditch Supplies was only a short walk from the Leaky Cauldron and Ginny decided it would be a waste not to get them while she was here. It'd give her something to do for a few minutes, in any case.

But fifteen minutes later, Quality Quidditch parcel in hand, the prospect had not grown any more tempting. Ginny hesitated outside the shop, debating her options. It wasn't long at all before she set off further down the street, away from the Leaky Cauldron.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was at its busiest during the summer and Christmas holidays, when students were home from Hogwarts. It was not at all unusual to see lines stretching around the store during those times of year and family gatherings in those months had to be planned with the store's hours in mind. Throughout the rest of the year, the place saw marginally less business—while the lines were not almost out the door, there were few times when it was completely without customers throughout the day. Ginny was unsurprised to see a line of people waiting at the checkout desk when she arrived. Verity, the pretty witch who'd been working at her brothers' shop since the beginning, smiled and waved at her from behind the desk, ringing up a couple of wizards who looked fresh out of Hogwarts. Ginny returned the wave as she stepped inside, ignoring the appreciative glances the two cast her way, though she was well aware of them.

She was no stranger to that sort of attention either. She wasn't vain enough to put much stock in the way she looked, though she enjoyed dressing up every now and then when the occasion warranted. Ginny did not spend much in the way of time or money on her everyday appearance—not in the way some witches she knew did with elaborate hairstyles or cosmetics. She didn't go out of her way to impress anyone—she didn't have to, as Harry preferred her natural looks—but she was not unaware of the fact that she didn't much need to either. Her husband's biased insistence aside, Ginny knew she wasn't exactly an eyesore and while she didn't much care what others thought, she knew the years she'd spent with the Harpies certainly hadn't hurt anything either—especially as she grew further into her twenties. Harry liked to joke that she grew more and more out of his league every day, but she grudgingly had to agree with the gossip pages of _The Daily Prophet_ that his own time with the Auror Department had left its mark as well. Though admittedly, their current predicament was proof that it maybe wasn't worth—

And that was enough of that. She'd been making an effort not to dwell on the impossible situation, especially while she was out in public, surrounded by uninformed strangers. Now was definitely not the time.

She moved further inside, her eyes scanning for a familiar head of red hair amidst the explosion of ever-present color lining every inch of the place. George was nowhere obvious, but that didn't mean he wasn't holed up in one of the aisles restocking, or in the back room somewhere.

"Hey, Ginny," Finn, a sandy-haired, rugged wizard who George had hired about a year ago to help with the tills, said as he turned from a display and noticed her. "What brings you here?"

Ginny shrugged. "I was in the area and thought I'd stop by. Is George here?"

"Yeah, he's around somewhere," Finn answered, scanning the shop. He was a full head taller than her and probably stood a better chance of spotting her brother than she did. "Try near the WonderWitch displays in the back there. He might be putting out the new batch of Cupid Crystals he finished with earlier."

"Thanks, Finn."

"No problem," the wizard said with a grin, "I'd stay and help you look but I've got to go help Verity at the counter before she hexes me."

Ginny smirked. "It's alright. I can manage."

"Alright. See ya, Ginny," he said and then walked off, leaving her to her task.

She caught George just as he finished placing out the newly made products. He straightened and stepped back just as she approached, walking right into her. "Oh!" he began quickly, whirling around, "I'm so sor—Oh, its you."

"Wow, thanks so much," she replied dryly, raising en eyebrow.

Her bother shrugged. "Better you than a paying customer."

"You're a real charmer, you know that?"

He grinned. "I try. What are you doing here?"

"I came to say hi," Ginny explained, "I was passing through." She held up the parcel with her new Chaser's gloves.

"Hi," George replied easily, gesturing for her to walk with him.

She fell into step beside him as he moved toward the back room. "How are you?" she asked.

He glanced sidelong at her. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" His voice held only the slightest hint of wary sympathy. Ginny ignored it.

"I asked you first."

She was pleased when he let it drop. "I'm bloody _busy_ is what I am," he replied easily, opening the door and leaving her to follow him through. "I'm going to wring Ron's sorry neck when he gets home. Git could've told me he was planning to leave town. He was supposed to help me replenish the storeroom yesterday. Instead I was here an extra four hours doing it all myself."

"I wish I'd known," Ginny said, "I would've helped."

George gave her a wry look. "Then I would have been here even longer, teaching you all the spells to make everything."

Fair enough. She didn't know them. She'd helped out at the shop the summer before her seventh year at Hogwarts, but she'd been underage for nearly all of it. Mostly she'd worked the floor.

"They can't be that difficult," she countered now, "if Ron knows them."

George laughed. "I'll tell you what. If you ever get tired of all that fame and glory, come see me. I'll teach you all there is to know."

She smirked. "I'll keep that in mind."

He met her eyes then and his smile faded. "How _are_ you holding up?" he asked seriously.

Ginny sighed. "Am I allowed to say I hate that question?" she asked, avoiding having to answer.

"Yes," he answered with understanding. He'd received enough versions of it himself in the months following the war. Of the lot of them, and understandably so, he'd taken Fred's death the hardest.

"Well, I do."

"I'm not going to push it," he promised earnestly, his eyes on her, "But we're here for you, Gin. Whatever you need, you know that."

"I know," Ginny replied softly. She did. Other than Hermione, she hadn't seen much of her family over the past few days, not since she'd first learned of the situation with Harry and had sought solace at the Burrow. She knew they were all aware of what had happened—news spread fast in her family—but they'd largely allowed her her space. Her mother, of course, still checked in with her daily to make sure she was okay, but she hadn't forced anything, and Ginny was grateful. She adored her family, but they tended to lack subtlety at times and she knew they'd all have felt the need to bring it up with her. She wasn't sure she would have been able to handle it. She'd wanted distraction, not attention.

George nodded. "Good." She saw it then, for just a second. He was worried too, scared of losing Harry just like she was. And he had his own reasons, she knew, for wanting him home. They all did. Harry had grown close with all her brothers over the years—even Percy to an extent. They all loved him—and they'd all lost enough. Ginny wasn't sure whether to take comfort from this realization or not. In some ways, it made her burden slightly lighter, but in others, it only made it worse. Could they survive yet another loss? Could she?

She didn't want to think about it.

George moved toward a nearby shelf then, grabbing a clipboard from its ledge and skimming it before producing his wand and Summoning a box from a high shelf. He looked inside and then checked something off on the page. "Were you planning to stick around for a while?" he asked, looking over at her, the box of products still floating beside him.

Ginny shrugged, shoving her recent thoughts aside with some effort. "Not if you're busy. I really just didn't want to go home yet."

"Understandable," George said lightly, Summoning two more boxes to his side. "I have no qualms with putting my sister to work. Can I interest you in restocking shelves?"

Ginny snorted. "Don't you have actual employees for that?"

"Yeah, but we're a man short and the weekend rush is starting. I want to be prepared."

Ginny blinked. It was Friday. Of course it was. A part of her knew this—the part that had been subconsciously counting the hours and days since she'd first come back from Kingley's office. The rest of her had lost track of the days—it had been the longest week ever. "What time is it?" she asked now.

George, apparently caught off guard, glanced down at the wristwatch he wore. "Er… about half one. Why?"

"Teddy's coming at three."

He looked at her. "Is he?"

"Why wouldn't he? He comes every weekend."

George only asked, "So you're not going to help me then?"

Ginny smirked, setting down her things and grabbing an extra set of magenta robes hanging by the door. "I'll help you, you berk. I've got an hour. What do you need done?"

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys! Here's another update. Thanks for all the support so far!**

* * *

Ginny was late getting back home from the shop. She'd barely stepped through the front door and shed one shoe before a familiar voice sounded from the lounge. "Ginny? Are you here, dear?"

"Coming!" Ginny called down the hall, kicking off her other trainer quickly and rushing toward the room. "Andromeda!" she greeted the older witch whose face greeted her from the fireplace. She knelt down to better talk to her. "Hi."

"There you are," Andromeda replied, matching her tone.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanted to check with you," she answered, her face clouding even through the Floo, "To make sure you still wanted Teddy this weekend. I sent an Owl a bit ago now but I never heard anything back. I didn't want to assume…"

"Sorry," Ginny said, "I stopped by to see George and lost track of time. I just walked in."

"That's quite alright," Andromeda said gently, hesitating some before continuing. "Your mum told me about Harry—I'm so sorry, sweetheart. If there's anything I can do, if Ted's too much right now—"

"No, no," Ginny said firmly, "Teddy's always welcome here. Always."

Andromeda paused. "Are you sure—"

"Yes," she answered quickly, swallowing, "This is hard enough on everyone. I-I don't want disappoint him."

"Well, dear, that's—"

"Please," Ginny answered, unable to fully keep the quaver from her voice, "I love having him here. We both need normalcy just now. And honestly, I've been looking for ways to distract myself—not that that's what Teddy is, but—I really…" She took a deep breath, frankly not as surprised as she should have been by her sudden emotion, "I'd really rather not be alone. If that's okay."

Andromeda only watched from the fireplace for a moment, a profound sadness in her eyes, before she nodded. "Of course. I'll just round him up then and bring him by in a few minutes."

Ginny nodded, regaining control of herself. "Thank you."

True to her word, Andromeda Flooed over a few minutes later, holding five-year old Teddy firmly by the hand. Ginny stepped out of the kitchen at the sound of their arrival, having just dispatched Andromeda's owl, Dahlia, who, sure enough, had been patiently waiting for her at the window with a letter.

"Hi," she said, walking in with a smile.

"Hi, Ginny!" Teddy piped up, squirming as his grandmother brushed the dust from his clothes and turquois hair.

"Come here, give me a hug," Ginny said, moving toward him. Teddy, grinning, readily complied. "How was school?"

"Good!" he answered, stepping back, "My teacher said I have good writing!"

"That's great!" she responded, "I'm so proud of you!"

"Where's Harry?" he asked abruptly, looking around as if expecting his godfather was hiding and would jump out to surprise him at any moment.

Ginny fought the sinking in her heart. She felt Andromeda's eyes on her. "He's not home yet," she told Teddy.

The boy's face fell. "But you said he would be back by now!"

"I know I did," she said gently, "I'm sorry."

"We were s'posed to go flying."

"I know, sweetheart, I'm sorry." She brushed an unruly strand of hair down on his head.

"Will he be back next week?" Teddy demanded unhappily.

Ginny took a deep breath, carefully schooling her features. "I hope so." Teddy was still pouting. "We can do something else," she told him, "if you don't want to fly with me." It had always been something Harry did with him and Ginny rather hoped Teddy wouldn't want to do it with her. The felt oddly like replacing him and she couldn't. Not yet. "What else do you want to do?"

Teddy turned disappointed eyes on her and seemed to consider it. "Can we get ice cream?" he asked.

Ginny managed a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, sure we can." The five year old smiled and nodded.

"Why don't you take your things to your room, Teddy?" Andromeda put in now, "Show Ginny how strong you're getting."

Teddy looked to his grandmother and nodded. Andromeda produced a shrunken rucksack from the pocket of her robes and, with a wave of her wand, returned it to its regular size before handing it to him. He took it and slipped it onto his back. "Don't leave yet," he told her earnestly.

"I would never leave without saying goodbye, Teddy Bear," Andromeda assured him. "Go on. I'll still be here when you return." Apparently satisfied with her promise, the boy turned and left the women alone in the lounge. Ginny watched him go for a moment before turning her eyes to the older witch. Andromeda reached out and squeezed her forearm consolingly.

"How are you, dear?"

She took a deep breath. "It's hard," she admitted. It wasn't something she'd tell just anyone, but Andromeda had become like family over the past years. She'd lost as much as anyone.

The older witch nodded, understanding plain in her dark eyes. "Have you heard anything at all?"

Ginny shook her head. "Kingsley's been keeping me updated, but no one there seems to know much more than I do. They're still searching, but so far…" She shook her head, swallowing.

"Listen to me," Andromeda said clearly, stepping closer and gripping her lightly by either arm. "You will get through this. No matter what happens. You are strong, and you're not alone, okay? I know how close your family is, I know they only want to help, but I also know how oppressive their concern can feel. So if you need anything at all, I'm here too."

Ginny nodded. "Thank you," she whispered around the lump that had formed in her throat.

Andromeda eyed her contemplatively, as if deciding something. "Come here," she said softly and wrapped Ginny in her arms. Her embrace was quick, but meaningful. Ginny took a deep breath as they stepped apart. "I'm glad you're taking him," Andromeda added now, her eyes on the spot where Teddy had disappeared. "I was dreading having to disappoint him."

"Of course."

"You'll let me know if it's too much though," she gently directed, "Say the word and I'll come get him."

"I'll be okay," Ginny said, "But thank you." She handled Teddy by herself often enough.

Andromeda was saved the need to reply by Teddy who hurried back into the room, his toy wand held aloft. "My wand!" he crowed happily, "You found it! Nan, look!"

Ginny smiled. "You left it here last weekend."

"Thank Ginny for saving it for you," Andromeda instructed.

"Thank you!" Teddy cried, waving the toy aloft. It was charmed to produce colorful sparks at the movement and he was showered in green and blue light.

Andromeda smiled, watching him for a moment before stepping forward. "I'm leaving now, Teddy Bear. Come give me a hug."

Teddy lowered his wand, the toy momentarily forgotten, and moved to comply. "Bye, Nan!"

"You be good for Ginny, okay?"

"I will."

"Alright then," she said, straightening. Her eyes met Ginny's. "Owl if you need anything." Ginny nodded. "I'll see you both Sunday."

Andromeda was gone a moment later and Teddy looked away from the fireplace, unconcerned. "Can we get ice cream now?"

A surprised laugh escaped Ginny's mouth. "I reckon we should eat supper first, don't you?"

"No," he answered reasonably.

She smiled, watching him, and then leaned in to conspiratorially whisper, "I'll tell you what. I don't feel like cooking. How about we go into Muggle London for supper. We can go to that café with the macaroni you like and then get some ice cream after. Sound good?"

Teddy appeared to consider this for a moment. "Can I get two scoops?" he asked very seriously.

Ginny laughed again. "Sure you can."

He smiled. "Okay."

* * *

Teddy wandered in around midnight, sleep heavy in his posture and voice. Ginny was awake, staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep—and surely nightmares—to claim her. She turned her head at the sound of the door opening and watched the little boy find his way to the bed in the dark. "Ginny," he whispered.

"What is it, Ted?" she asked.

"Can I sleep with you?" She sighed lightly, but not with any real conviction, and smiled a bit. It was something she'd allowed him to do once, when Harry was away and her words alone had not been enough to completely chase away a nightmare's remnants. In the time since, if Harry was out of town, he often asked and she more than often let him in.

"Sure," she said, "Come on up."

Teddy climbed onto the mattress beside her and curled up next to her. He was good and out in minutes. Ginny watched him now, nearly an hour later, and her heart broke a little more.

Growing up, she'd never given much thought to becoming a mother. It had always been one of those things that would happen one day, very far down the line, when she was good and ready. Something she was expected to do and would face when the time came. And she wouldn't deny that the image she carried in her head of that long off day, well before Harry had even showed any sign of interest in her, had included him and a couple of dark haired children running about. But even they were a far off prospect. She was still so young—she couldn't imagine.

But Teddy had been a surprise. From the moment she'd learned of Professor Lupin making Harry his godfather, she'd harbored a tiny hope that one day Harry would make her Teddy's godmother. He had, of course, when he married her, though she wasn't sure she'd truly appreciated what that meant at first.

In many ways, she was already a mum. She and Harry could never replace Remus and Tonks as the little boy's parents, nor would they ever want to, but Ginny was immensely grateful for the opportunity to be his family. She loved the little boy enough that she thought at times her heart might explode from it and she knew Harry adored him even more. Caring for him on the weekends was often the highlight of her week and even as newlyweds, they had never missed a weekend if they could help it. Teddy was theirs, in all the ways that mattered, and they were more than willing to have him. It had been simple fact even before they'd married that any children she and Harry one day had would be siblings of Teddy's, and Ginny had always been excited at the prospect of doing that for him, of adding not only to Harry's family, but to their godson's as well.

She wondered if that would ever happen now. Certainly not if Harry never came home. They'd always waited to pursue starting a family. They'd been too young and too busy, not ready for the responsibility, or to share their relationship with anyone else—they still only had Teddy half the time. Maybe they could have been less careful. Maybe then it wouldn't be just Ginny and Teddy forever, if Harry… if he died.

And Teddy, the poor thing! He'd already lost both parents, and his grandfather. He didn't remember any of them. To lose his godfather too… He was only five—would he remember Harry either?

Ginny took a shaky breath and ran a gentle hand through his thick hair, light brown in sleep—the color his father's had been. "Please come home," she breathed into the dark as a single tear finally broke free and traced its way across her cheek to soak into Harry's pillow, "Don't let him lose you too."

The little boy slept on, ignorant of how drastically his life stood to change yet again. Part of her wanted him to know, felt he deserved to even young as he was. She wondered if she ought to tell him. But what could she possibly say? How could any words of hers ever make what was happening okay, why should she worry him with unknowns? That would be worse—it was worse for her already, the wondering and desperate hoping.

So she would wait. Until she knew for sure, she wouldn't tell Teddy anything at all. He deserved all the blissful ignorance he could get.

The young wizard shifted in his sleep then and his hand fell atop Ginny's upper arm. He did not stir again and it remained there. She watched him sleep for a minute and then, with a quiet sigh, closed her own eyes. The pressure of Teddy's small hand was oddly comforting—a gentle reminder that she was not alone in the dark tonight, and a more painful one that he needed her, especially if Harry never came back.

It was this last thought, more than any other, which finally lulled her to sleep. Ginny felt utterly helpless when it came to her captured husband—she could do nothing but wait and worry, but the same was not true of Teddy. He was young and innocent, and he had suffered enough. She could help him; take care of him, provide for him, and be there. She was not completely helpless when it came to him, and the sense of purpose was encouraging, comforting.

For the first time that night, she felt her muscles relaxing, and, for a few hours at least, Ginny's eyes did not open again.

* * *

It hit Ron early the next morning as he lay awake in the flimsy camp bed he'd been allotted, watching, through the dirty window beside him, the beginnings of a watery dawn peaking above the distant horizon. The safe house was quiet with most of its occupants asleep. He suspected the scouting team Goodwin had sent out the night before would be returning any moment now. The rest of the Aurors had worked late into the night and would be back at it again before the sun had fully risen, but for now, it was peaceful, if anything in this wretched place, on this wretched mission, could be considered such.

He was following the path of a water droplet from the recent rainfall—it had since stopped—down the window when the thought occurred to him and he sat up straight in bed. The springs of the mattress squeaked horribly under his weight but the Auror sleeping face first on the other bed in the small room—called Kerring, maybe—did not so much as stir. Which was good, as Ron was currently in a rather compromising position, half-clothed and staring, wide-eyed, at the wall before him as the memory slid into place.

And then he was moving.

The light was on in the tiny kitchen. Ron was, frankly, not all that surprised to find Goodwin sat at the table, papers spread across the entire surface, nursing a strong cup of tea as he poured over them. He approached quickly, heart pounding and unconcerned by the fact that he was not wearing a shirt. Goodwin looked up—and quickly sat up in his chair as Ron threw himself down in the one across from him. "I think I know where he is," he said quickly, giving the slightly older wizard not a second.

Goodwin blinked. "Where?"

"Right over the border. The Muggles call it a tripoint—right where Belarus, Lithuania, and Latvia meet."

"Ron, I told you, we've got patrols—"

"—along the borders, yeah, I got that. Just listen. The—"

"That area is hugely controlled by Muggles," Goodwin interrupted, "Why would Knox go anywhere near there?"

"Exactly for the reasons we think he wouldn't," Ron reasoned, "The Muggle militaries are all over the place there but I'm fairly certain there's a small patch of No Man's Land that the wizards don't patrol well. And with the right spells, even we might have easily missed Knox—I think we _did_ miss him, Harry and I, months ago."

"What are you talking about?"

Ron took a breath and then launched into the story. "Maybe a month before I left the Aurors, we were working on tracking Knox's movements over here. It was a lot of guesswork and false leads—that's why it took so long for this mission to even happen." He was aware he was speaking very quickly, but even if he'd wanted to slow, he wasn't entirely sure he could. "Anyway, there was this one lead we found in Poland and while we were there, this little flicker of activity flared on the map over here for the shortest second. This was back when we thought Knox was still in Austria and there wasn't a trace of the magic we thought we saw when we checked on it, so we chalked it up to a mistake, a trick of the light or something, and moved on. I doubt anyone gave it a second thought until I remembered it just now."

Goodwin just stared at him, clearly tired and unimpressed. "What are you saying?" he asked dully, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I'm saying I don't think that flash was a trick of the light. I think it was some really well disguised magic—maybe Apparition or something—that we missed. I think its possible Knox has a safe house there somewhere. If it's not that well patrolled by wizards who all think it's the other country's problem, it could be the perfect place to hide out. Muggle-Repelling Charms are easy enough to hide if you know what you're doing and frankly it's a better option than sitting around here reading through the same bloody files for information that isn't there."

Goodwin was quiet for a moment. "Do you have any proof at all to back this up?" he asked.

"What? No, didn't hear what I just said? No one bothered following up on it because we didn't think it was anything. Even if we'd wanted to, Robards would never have sanctioned sending a group after something we doubted even really happened."

"So then what, exactly, makes you believe he'd be okay with doing it now?"

Ron blinked. "Are you kidding? _Harry Potter's_ been _captured_. We're already _here_! Send a team over there to look around. What could that _possibly_ hurt?"

"Ron, you know I can't just do that without due cause. Even to have my Aurors poking around the border, I'd have to get clearance from the Minister—"

"So do it."

"—and inform the Lithuanian and Latvian governments so they don't think we're trying to pull anything dodgy. And to do that, we basically have to accuse them of being lax in their border patrol duties. How well do you think that's going to go?"

"I really don't give a—"

"And you have no reason to, because you aren't the one that has to deal with the consequences of anything we do here. I'm trying to get a promotion next year, Ron. I really don't need to be responsible for starting an international incident."

Ron leveled him with a stare. "So you're not going to do anything?"

"I didn't say that. I'll let Robards know, and the Minister. Let them handle the international relations, and once we get the order from them, then we'll move in. We need to do this right."

"And how long will that take?"

"I'll put a rush on it. Hopefully not more than a day."

"Seriously? Do you really not know how much difference a whole day can make to someone who's being held and _tortured_?"

"Ron—"

"Bring this to the Minister. I _guarantee_ you he'll tell you not to wait for anything. I bloody _dare_ —"

"Weasley," Goodwin interrupted firmly, "Enough. I understand Harry's your best friend, okay? I _get_ that. But you need to _stand down._ We don't even know if this hunch of yours is correct. We have no proof whatsoever. Believe it or not, I want to find Harry just as much as you do, but we're doing this the right way. _Don't_ make me send you home."

Ron forced himself to remain silent but he was fuming. He'd always thought Goodwin to be a reasonable guy—he'd never won any awards in his book but he'd always thought he'd at least had a good head on his shoulders, solid judgment. Now he wasn't so sure. Where was the sense of urgency? Who cared about protocol and international relations when the life of one of their own was on the line? Certainly not Ron.

Out. He needed to get out before he did something truly stupid. Stiffly and without a word, he turned for the door before remembering he was still without a shirt, and in his haste to inform Goodwin of his revelation this morning he'd left his wand in the bedroom as well. Cursing to himself, he spun for the hallway instead. The other Aurors would be waking soon. Maybe he could get a jog in before breakfast and cool off until he wasn't ready to curse anyone.

"Ron," Goodwin said. Ron held up a furious hand to silence him. It was something his father did, and when he did his children knew it was time to be silent. If he'd been any calmer, Ron might have been startled to find himself replicating the gesture. Goodwin, however, seemed unaffected. "Find proof," he said quietly. Ron stopped walking and turned toward him. The wizard looked as conflicted as he'd ever seen him. Maybe he really did want to find Harry after all. "Due cause. Find me proof and we can go right now."

Ron studied him in silence for a moment before turning and silently continuing from the kitchen. Fine. If that were what it took, he'd find proof. He knew beyond a doubt Knox and his men were at the tripoint. He wasn't sure how exactly, instinct or some divine help or whatever, but he was positive. And no one was perfect. If the Death Eaters were there—and they absolutely were—there would be some sort of evidence to find, some sort of clue he could use, just the smallest hint. Ron would find it. To find Harry, he'd tear down the entire world if he had to.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! So sorry for the wait. Turns out this chapter was harder to write than I expected but I'm super happy with it. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Ginny leaned against the countertop in the kitchen, reading through the letter Kingsley's owl had delivered with bleary eyes. It was much the same as the others she'd received most every day that week, but she appreciated that the Minister was personally taking the time to keep her updated, even while he had little in the way of new information to share with her.

She'd awoken just after dawn with Teddy still curled up and sleeping soundly beside her. Finding him there had brought the briefest of fond smiles to her face and while waking up with Harry still missing grew increasingly depressing with every passing morning, Ginny was again grateful to have the young wizard with her.

She'd carefully disentangled herself from the blankets, careful not to disturb her godson, and padded quietly down to the kitchen in time to see the familiar regal outline of Kingsley's owl landing outside the closed window. He'd noticed her eyes on him and had simply waited, staring at her imperiously as she crossed the room and unlatched the window to let him in. He'd barely accepted the treat she offered before taking to the skies once more. It seemed the Minister's owl was nearly as busy as the man himself.

Ginny was disappointed but not particularly surprised to find there was little to report regarding the hunt for Harry. Kingsley informed her that all known safe houses in Belarus had been raided and thoroughly searched, and had yielded little in the way of leads. He assured her that they were not giving up, however, and were doubling their efforts in going back over their gathered information in hope of finding something they'd missed. Meanwhile, patrols were still being sent out throughout the land and he was working as much as possible with neighboring governments as well. Ginny wondered if the Minister truly felt as optimistic as he came across in his writing. A large part of her highly doubted it. He was still a politician, after all.

With a deep breath, she laid the parchment aside and straightened, fighting against the wave of anxiety that once more threatened to flood her heart. _It isn't anything you didn't already know,_ she told herself, yet the wave attempted to crest all the same. With a sigh, she turned to face the window and watched in silence as the sun continued to rise in the sky.

* * *

Ron lasted a grand total of four hours before losing patience completely with Goodwin's directive. And while he was aware that, in the grand scheme of things, this was not long at all—he and Harry had scoured sources for weeks in the past to find the proof they needed for various cases and raids—he could not stand the idea of sitting idle any longer while he was sure he knew where his best friend was, proof or no proof.

He was sat in a far corner of the safe house's tiny lounge, which had served as the focal point for the Aurors' research the past weeks and was full of conjured desks covered in maps and case files. He was not alone—Goodwin had ordered nearly every Auror who wasn't out scouting to assist in searching for any evidence that a Death Eater safe house could exist at the tripoint—but he paid the others no attention as he tossed aside the report he held on Knox's last known movements and stood to leave. The action didn't apparently seem like cause for concern as he was largely ignored in return.

If Goodwin needed proof before he'd allow the team to do anything, Ron would get it for him—in the form of a first hand glimpse at the hideout. And if he needed to take matters into his own hands once he got there, well, it was safe to say he'd accept any consequences the Ministry wanted to hand down if it meant getting Harry home safe. He was done following stupid rules and wasting time. He hoped Hermione would understand. And Kingsley too, if it came down to it. But Ron had made up his mind and he didn't mind going alone. He knew Harry would do the same for him.

He considered just leaving right then with nothing but the clothes on his back and the wand at his belt, but thought better of it and filled a knapsack with some supplies and a map, applying a feather-light charm before slinging it over his shoulder. He gave the room a last cursory scan and was about to Disillusion himself and turn for the door when a voice asked from behind him, "Have you found something then?"

Ron froze, gritting his teeth, and turned around to face Goodwin, stood in the doorway and apparently unsurprised to have found him attempting to leave. "I don't need to find anything to know where he is," he said evenly.

"Our orders here would indicate otherwise."

"Well, guess what, Goodwin. I'm not an Auror anymore and my being here doesn't change that. _You_ are under orders. I'm not."

"You're right. I'm under orders, and those orders include keeping you from doing something stupid. That's all I'm trying to do."

Ron forced himself to take a breath. "Robards already made it perfectly clear before I came here what would happen if I did. I'm well aware of what I'm risking here and, frankly, I don't care."

"You'd throw your entire life away to _possibly_ find Harry?"

"Without hesitation," Ron told him. The Auror simply nodded. "Look," he went on, "I understand we've only been looking for a few hours and there very well may be some evidence to be found to support my theory, but I can't wait around for that to happen. I am _sure_ Harry is there and I can't sit on that and make him wait any longer. You're not a half-bad Auror, Goodwin, so I know you know a gut instinct is sometimes the best source of evidence there is. Well, that's all I've got to go on here but I intend to follow through on it—"

"Okay."

"—I'm not asking anyone to come with me or anything. I just need to…" Only then did Goodwin's reply fully register with Ron. "What?"

The corner of the Auror's mouth twitched slightly but he remained serious when he answered him. "You're right. Sometimes instinct is all we have to go on and you obviously trust yours a great deal to be willing to risk all that you are. Which is good, because I just sent word to Robards that we'd be moving out shortly to pursue your lead."

Ron blinked. "What?" he repeated.

Now Goodwin really did smile a bit. "You're right. We were wasting our time tracking down leads on safe houses in Belarus that clearly don't exist and I've been doing this job long enough now to know there's rarely such thing as a coincidence. Your hunch seems far-fetched but it is absolutely plausible and we've come up empty everywhere else. We all owe Harry a debt we can never repay and we should be trying every lead we can, adequate proof or no, and the Minister agrees."

Ron's eyebrows had risen in surprise as the Auror spoke. "So…?" he said now, now sure what it was he was even asking. Goodwin was going to help after all? He'd been playing with him before!

He continued now, "I was on my way to inform the team about our change of plans when I ran into you here. Because of the fragile nature of relations abroad right now, the Ministry can't officially sanction this particular raid, meaning the rest of the team doesn't have to take part if they don't choose to, but the Minister has personally given the go ahead for us and any who decide to help. So if you can stand to wait just a little longer, Ron, we'll plan to head out in an hour."

Ron blinked, and then nodded. He reached out to shake Goodwin's hand. "Thank you," he said.

"We're going to find him," the Auror said in reply.

Ron only nodded as he stepped back and moved to follow the other wizard to the lounge while the tiny flicker of risky hope he'd carried with him since he'd first decided to ask Robards to send him to help flickered a little brighter.

* * *

The underbrush was scratchy and the approaching night wet and cold as Ron waited impatiently in a patch of forest a kilometer away from the tripoint with a handful of other Aurors for dark to fully fall.

The area was heavily patrolled by Muggle militaries from each of the three bordering countries, but as Ron had suspected there wasn't much evidence of extensive wizarding security. This was good for their particular endeavor, though he had to admit this was mildly concerning considering how strict the borders were supposed to be everywhere else. He hoped it was something Kingsley would seek to correct once they managed to leave with Harry.

The majority of the Aurors working on the case had agreed to come along when Goodwin had given them the option earlier today. Only about a sixth of them had opted to remain out of it and Ron had made a concerted effort not to judge them for their bad decisions in favor of focusing on finding Harry. They'd devised a plan before heading out shortly after eleven that morning.

They'd arrived at the border nearly an hour later—a much smaller group than would be assisting with the actual mission—having been forced to Apparate a few kilometers away and walk the rest of the distance in favor of stealth. The next several hours were spent scouting the area, learning the patrols of both the Muggle and occasional wizarding soldiers, the holes in the watches, searching for evidence of recent magic, possible charms in place, and gathering all the standard necessary information. The plan was to be ready by nightfall, when the rest of the participating Aurors would arrive, and move in then.

They were currently waiting for said night to finish falling and for the reinforcements to arrive. The actual entry plan was a straightforward one and Ron was feeling confident about it even with the limited planning. He was through waiting.

The actual tripoint was rather unimpressive. It consisted of an open area with a cement slab and a small marker designating the space as such. The surrounding area, largely occupied as it was by Muggle military, was wooded and scattered every so often with buildings that maybe served as storehouses or barracks. They had detected evidence of Muggle repelling charms in place throughout the area but the majority of magic, as well as some decidedly unfriendly spells, was concentrated around a single small, rather dodgy looking cabin just over the border of Lithuania. _Homenum_ _Revelio_ had informed them of multiple people inside and, in any case, Ron thought, the place just _looked_ like a Death Eaters' lair. They would breach within the hour.

He was practically buzzing with excitement; he'd developed an incessant drumming of his fingers against his knee and he knew he'd be powerless to stop even if he wanted to. They were so close. Ron could feel it. He and Harry would be home in a matter of hours, where he would face the wrath of both his mother and his fiancée—he honestly wasn't sure which one he was more intimidated by and he thought he'd never looked forward to the prospect more.

A slight rustling sounded behind them and Ron, along with the other Aurors huddled there with him, turned to find the rest of the team had joined them at last. The tallest among them, an Auror Ron recognized as Bentley Rhodes, Goodwin's second in command on this mission, nodded a greeting in the dimness. Goodwin returned the gesture, expanded the _Muffliato_ charm to include the new additions, and then turned to the group as a whole.

"Alright," he said to them, "I want us ready to move in ten minutes. You know the plan. Divide into three groups and cross over at different points. Bear in mind we have permission to be in Balarus but the same can't be said for Lithuania or Latvia. It may be a wizard's No Man's Land but the Muggles don't play games about their borders. Repelling charms are in place but be careful all the same. I don't need to tell you how important this retrieval is." He was met with nods of acknowledgement. "Good. I want us in position and ready to breach by half-past. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the group answered as one.

Not ten minutes later, they were indeed moving—and quickly. Each of the three groups contained four Aurors and would cross the border at different locations to remain as inconspicuous as possible while travelling in such a large unit. Ron was in the group led by Rhodes and he trotted quietly along behind him and a short blonde Auror whose name he thought might have been Mallory something. He'd never worked with her directly. The Auror behind him had transferred from the French Ministry a few months back. Ron didn't know him well either, and for the moment, he did not care. They were getting Harry back at last.

The plan once they reached the cabin was simple. They had discovered three points of entry into the small building in the form of the front door and two dingy windows on the back and side. Two members of each group would enter the cabin at each point while the other two remained outside as guards and backup—Goodwin had actually tried to assign Ron to this position until he'd leveled the Auror with an unyielding look and, clearly understanding it would be more trouble for him than it was worth otherwise, he'd given it to Mallory something instead. Ron may not have had privileges as an Auror anymore but that didn't matter on an unofficial mission—and regardless, anyone who expected him to sit on the sidelines while Harry's fate hung in the balance was sorely mistaken.

They moved efficiently through the brush. Ron's heart pounded in his chest even while his thoughts quieted and his mind went into that still-familiar mode in which nothing outside of the ground beneath him, the lives around him, and the mission before him mattered.

As Goodwin had projected, it took the team about twenty minutes to reach their positions outside the Death Eaters' cabin, not including the handful of minutes they'd waited in the shadows just past the border while the Lithuanian equivalent of an Auror passed by on the guard route—one of only two apparently in existence—they'd scouted out earlier in the day. Once he'd gone, the team had a full thirty-minute stretch before he came around again—plenty of time to slip past.

Ron moved with the other Aurors to get into position now, keeping with the three members of his group as they navigated silently in the dark to their assigned position at the cabin's left side window. There, they were to wait until Goodwin gave the signal to move in.

A few years ago, the Auror Department had commissioned a special batch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Power from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that not only removed all light from a room but also prevented any occupants from leaving—though not from entering— until it was removed. It had taken months for George to figure out the right spellwork to make it both harmless and controllable—as well as to invent a way to make sure the Aurors could remain unaffected by it—but the end result had become an invaluable resource for missions like this one. The stuff was being used tonight. Each group carried a canister—Rhodes had theirs—which was to be dispensed prior to breaching.

The four of them lined up on either side of the window, now open just slightly, pressed tight against the cabin to remain unseen from the inside—though frankly the glass was so dirty, Ron highly doubted one could see much out of it anyway. "Ready?" Rhodes, beside him, murmured. Ron nodded, waiting, as they all were, for Goodwin's signal.

It was another minute before Mallory, the closest of them to the front of the building, pointed up to where a streak of light, inconspicuous but definitely there, could be seen just above the roof. "There it is," she said, "Time to move."

She'd hardly finished speaking before Rhodes had the canister of darkness powder in hand, unfastened the clip, and tossed it through the gap in the filthy window. A second later, he had the pane opened completely and jumped in after it. Ron moved instantly to follow.

He knew something was off the moment his feet landed silently—thanks to the Cushioning Charm on his boots—on the floor of the cabin's small bathroom. Brushing aside the thought out of sheer stubbornness, he moved to follow after Rhodes, covering him from behind as they moved out into the main area of the tiny, decrepit house. The place was little more than a dingy living space of kitchen and living room, with a bathroom off one end and a minuscule bedroom off the other. With as many Aurors present as there were, it took only a matter of seconds before the team had swept the place and because he'd used George's charm to enable him immune to the man-made darkness, Ron could see every inch of the depressing place with perfect clarity. And he realized quickly what had seemed so odd from the second he'd set foot inside, his heart dropping down to the general area of his stomach as he did.

Because he had been on plenty of raids during his time with the Aurors; he'd used George's powder plenty of times, and every time he had, the action was met with shouts of shock and fear and anger from the surprised occupants within. Never had its use been met with utter silence.

Not until now. The cabin was encased in impenetrable darkness and there had been not a sound. And now, with the space full of Aurors, Ron understood why.

They were too late. The cabin was empty.

Harry was gone.

* * *

He'd lost track of how long it had been since the raid had gone sideways that night. They'd kept him in the dark, away from windows and the light of day—and, he was fairly certain, drugged as well, just enough to keep him aware but disoriented; his mind foggy and any wandless magic suppressed. He'd been at the mercy of Knox's men and their wands for days and it if it hadn't been for that fact that his limbs had not splayed in odd directions when he'd been moved just now, he would have assumed every bone in his body was broken. The pain was certainly bad enough. He'd essentially had to be carried out of whatever hole they'd kept him in since he'd let them take him. As it turned out, days on end of the _Cruciatus_ —among other things—had that effect on a man. He wondered how much longer he could stand it before the torment drove him insane.

Harry didn't regret his choice that night. He hadn't even really thought about what he was doing, he'd simply acted. Murray, though motivated, was young and inexperienced, and he'd seen the moment the young wizard had frozen in the Death Eater's line of fire. Harry had done what he had to do and he'd probably do it again. The thought did cross his mind now though that his heroics might actually get him killed this time. He thought of Ginny and hoped she'd be all right if they did. He thought she would; she was stronger than he was.

They removed the cover from his head now and Harry squinted painfully up at the blurry figure. If the Death Eater had remained quiet, as some tended to, he never would have known who he was—they'd taken and smashed his glasses by his second day with them—before, despite his training, he'd lost track of time completely. But he knew this voice and frankly he was unsurprised to find Knox had come to taunt him. Harry did not know why they'd moved him but he assumed it had to be due to someone getting a bit too close to finding them for comfort. This thought was simultaneously as devastating as it was encouraging.

"Enjoying the change of scenery?" Knox asked cheekily, maybe smiling from the inflection in his voice. To Harry's swollen eyes, he was but a dark-robed blur. "It's almost a pity," he drawled on lazily, "we couldn't stay and watch the show. To see those Aurors of yours show up and flood into our safe house only to find we'd already abandoned it." Harry gave no indication of even hearing him. He slouched horribly in the chair they'd once more tied him to, playing at completely spent—he was concerned to note he did not have to try hard at all. He'd played his role the whole way here, forcing Knox's brutes to support his weight completely as they'd dragged him away to wherever it was they were now holed up. The show had been enough to convince them of his broken state; no one had noticed his tense wrists as they'd bound him once more upon arrival, or the fact that the ropes they'd charmed to tie themselves fit much more loosely than they all thought.

"They came for you, you know," the escaped Death Eater went on, clearly pleased with himself. He must have been in a good mood too, given how long he'd been talking now without casting a single curse in Harry's direction. "Probably been searching tirelessly for their precious _Boy Who Lived._ They made it all the way to the house we've been using; rushed in there, wands blazing. Little do they know you lot aren't the only ones capable of establishing sources of inside information."

Harry struggled to appear unaffected by this news but perhaps he had finally begun growing tolerant of whatever drug they'd been poisoning him with because his mind was not foggy now as he contemplated Knox's words. Inside information? Was he saying he had a mole inside the Auror Department? Was that how they'd known to leave the hideout before Harry's coworkers arrived?

Knox must have felt very confident indeed that his prize would not be leaving his clutches in any position to do much of anything if he was willing to so blatantly discuss such delicate material.

The Death Eater continued on, confident and amused. "What's _truly_ a shame though was that I missed the opportunity to see the look on your _precious_ Weasley's face when he realized you were not there."

Despite himself, Harry could not keep the shock from flashing across his face at his words. Ron? Ron was here? For him? Of course he was—the git was too loyal for his own good sometimes, though Harry figured he maybe wasn't in a position to pass along criticisms just now.

Knox, of course, noticed and Harry didn't need to see clearly to know his face split into a wicked grin at the reaction in his eyes. "Yes," he gloated, "You didn't know _that_ , did you? Your best friend managed to talk his way over here to find you. It is rather inspiring, the bond you two share," he said, his tone taking on a derisive quality, "It's just too bad he'll never get the chance to see his friend alive again."

Then, in a single, swift movement, he drew his wand and leveled it straight at Harry, the curse already on his lips.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I will try my hardest to update soon for you guys.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi guys! Back with another update! Thank you all for the support and reviews last chapter. I am so glad you all are enjoying this story so much!**

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In the end, it came down to sheer luck that Harry managed to evade the jet of green light that shot from the tip of Knox's wand. A solid jerk of his wrists had his hands freed and a split second later, he hit the ground with no intentions at all outside of simply avoiding the curse. Knox yelled in shock as his spell missed his captive by millimeters and gouged a deep crevice into the wall behind him. The impact was hard and seemed to rattle through Harry's already splintering bones, but he did not stop. He was up in the next moment, vaulting the chair up with him even as his head spun with the pain. He used it to dodge the next curse flung his way and then flung it with every ounce of strength toward the dark wizard.

By some miracle, the distraction worked. Knox turned his attention to the projectile for a split second, arresting its flight in midair and allowing Harry an opening. Between the dark and his poor eyesight, he was very nearly blind, but he launched himself at the wizard and collided hard, he believed, with the lower portion of his torso. He took a blow to the spine but Harry fought through it, letting his instincts and the combat skills he'd learned during Auror training kick in. He knew if he stopped now he was dead for sure—maybe he was dead anyway, but he was determined to go down fighting if he was.

In such close quarters, wand work was difficult and Knox, too, was forced to resort to brute force. He drove a knee violently into Harry's chest and the latter stumbled back, struggling for breath. Knox advanced, wand drawn once more. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy killing you slowly." The next jet of light did hit its mark and Harry couldn't help but yell as his chest was torn open from the cutting curse. The _Cruciatus_ came next and he couldn't move, couldn't think, wasn't even sure he could _breathe_ through the intense onslaught of it. Knox advanced toward him, laughing vindictively. Harry waited, focusing hard on keeping his jaw locked to keep from crying out again or from biting his own tongue off. He'd discovered sometime over the course of the past days—or however long it had been at this point—that the only way to really handle pain of such a magnitude was to compartmentalize it in his mind, to shove it in a box the way he'd once done with everything when he'd been with the Dursleys, and to push that box as far from the forefront of his mind as he could.

His body convulsed under the onslaught of the curse and Knox prowled closer, a vulture circling his prey. Harry forced himself to focus, to bear it and to wait. He hated this, feeling helpless and trapped, losing once more to Death Eaters and their dark magic, being without his wand, half-blind and in pain, away from his wife. And he hated perhaps more than anything right then the idea of Ron's face when he realized he'd missed his chance at finding him.

The dark wizard crouched down before him, surely grinning like a hyena basking in his imminent victory. Harry had no idea where he found the strength to do so but he managed to summon every once of will and swing his leg around behind the unsuspecting Knox. He swept the Death Eater's legs out from under him and he fell hard on the dirty floor. With his concentration broken, the Unforgivable curse vanished and, though the effects of it lingered excruciatingly, Harry took advantage of the sudden relief. He sprang up and pinned Knox's wand arm to the floor beside his head. The Death Eater fought violently against him but for the moment, Harry had managed to gain the upper hand and he did not intend to let it go. Knox reached for his face with his free hand in a blow Harry did not see until it was nearly too late. He managed to dodge enough to keep the damage to his nose minimal and followed up with a solid punch to the other wizard's face in return. The crunch of cartilage and bone beneath his fist was one of the most satisfying things Harry thought he'd ever felt. Knox went limp beneath him.

Harry's arm felt leaden but he pulled it back and struck one more time because he could. He would have liked nothing more in that moment than to curl up right there and sleep for a month but Harry knew his trials were far from over. He pried the wand from Knox's unconscious fingers and though he knew the lightheadedness he currently felt was likely at least in part due to the torrents of blood leaking from the gash in his chest, his wounds were not his first priority. The Death Eater's wand was far from his own phoenix feather one—which he knew he'd likely never see again—but it obeyed his command easily enough and did the job securing ropes tightly around the unconscious dark wizard, gagging him for good measure.

Harry knew he himself was in bad shape with injuries that went far deeper than just the cuts and bruises—he'd need to get to St. Mungo's soon, before the adrenaline keeping him upright abandoned him completely. In the interim, however, he had no choice but to settle for some rudimentary healing charms. The gash in his chest was deep and dirty, and it stung immensely as it knit itself closed. Even with the lessened vertigo, Harry felt like death, but his only option was to keep moving. He was getting out of here one way or another but he preferred to do it on his own two feet.

Steeling himself and rallying his strength, he squinted down at Knox's unconscious, bloody form, ensured he was adequately bound, and braced himself for whatever awaited him on the other side of the door.

* * *

Andromeda came by shortly after four on Sunday to bring Teddy home for the week and Ginny had to admit she was sad to see him go. They'd spent the morning playing catch in the garden and tending the tiny strawberry bush she'd planted at his behest a month earlier and had scarcely touched since. Having the five-year old around had been the best distraction she'd found yet from her worry for Harry and, as always, she'd immensely enjoyed the time with her godson.

Ginny, along with the rest of her siblings, was expected at the Burrow at five o'clock for the weekly dinner her mother had insisted upon since the Weasley children had all moved away from home. She normally rather enjoyed the get-togethers and the chance to see Victoire and little Dominique. She and Harry occasionally brought Teddy along as well to be doted on by her mother and Hermione. She'd let him go home to his grandmother early this week though, as she knew word had surely spread like wildfire throughout the family by now regarding the situation with Harry and she wasn't sure what to expect. Much as she would have enjoyed having the little boy around for a while longer, she didn't want to risk the loose lips her brothers tended to have. Teddy was incredibly smart and Ginny was in no way ready to explain the situation to him—she'd keep it quiet until she knew more herself. The idea of ever doing so tied her stomach in knots as it was.

Pushing that thought aside, she moved toward the stairs and the master bedroom beyond to clean herself up and change out of her soil-covered clothes before heading out. She Flooed to her childhood home a few minutes shy of five and nearly collided with Audrey, Percy's recently named Muggle fiancée. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" the latter cried in surprise as Ginny stumbled nearly right back into the fireplace. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Ginny assured her, straightening, "Don't worry."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been standing there."

"It's okay. No harm done." Audrey still looked worried, but nodded. She'd learned about magic about a month earlier and was still skittish at times around the family, but Ginny wondered if she wasn't acting more cautious than normal.

More of her family had noticed her arrival by now; Percy and Bill, in the living room with them, greeted her now, the latter following up with a question about Quidditch practice. "It's going well," she answered him, "We play Kenmare on Tuesday so Gwenog's been getting us ready for that."

"Are _you_ playing?" Percy piped up from beside his brother.

Ginny gave him a puzzled look. "I'm starting Chaser; why wouldn't I be?"

"Er, no reason," he replied, shrugging halfheartedly. Victoire came running in to greet her then, effectively ending that conversation and saving Percy from the need to explain himself further.

And so it continued, the verbal tiptoeing around her. When Hermione asked Audrey how the initial stages of wedding planning were going, the latter cast a brief, hesitant glance in Ginny's direction before providing a vague answer. When the subject of Quidditch came up, as it always did in their family, and Victoire piped up about wanting to learn to fly and hoping Uncle Harry would teach her to play Seeker, Fleur immediately and rather conspicuously shushed her and changed the subject. Angelina, whom George had been seriously dating for several months now, looked about to say something at one point before she seemed to remember Ginny seated diagonally from her and very obviously remained silent. Even her mother, when little Dominique found her way into Ginny's lap, failed to give her the _look_ , the one that informed Ginny in no uncertain terms that she was expecting her and Harry to add to the brood of grandchildren and to do it soon.

The only members of the family who did not treat her differently were Hermione and George, who she knew understood better than most her need for normalcy. And she was grateful, though her annoyance with the rest of her family was enough to overshadow it. She stuck mostly to speaking to the two of them during the meal to avoid snapping at anyone. And to think she'd been worried about Teddy overhearing something!

Toward the end of dinner, George was regaling the table with news of a new product for the store. "Essentially it's a toy critter—probably spiders to start out—that has a toggling Disillusionment charm on it and can hide in plain sight until the spell is turned off."

"So it's a prank that involves scaring people with disappearing spiders?" Hermione demanded, "That's _horrible_!"

"It is funny though," Bill allowed with a smirk, "Simple but effective." Beside him, Fleur just shook her head.

"Exactly!" agreed George, "I figure it will make a great Halloween product. Only thing is I'll have to wait for Ron and Harry to get back to help me with the Disillusionment spells. All that Auror training made them pros with 'em."

He was met with silence from the adults present. Hermione assessed the reactions with disapproval in her eyes. Everyone else just looked wary. "George…" Molly said quietly, her eyes finding Ginny again.

"What?" he demanded shamelessly.

"It's just—" she began only to be interrupted.

"Would you all stop acting like I'm made of glass?" Ginny demanded, speaking up at last, "Like I'm going to break at any moment?"

Molly blinked. "Dear, we're not—"

"You are. You all are, you have been all night."

"We're only trying to help, Ginny," Angelina said softly.

"Well, don't. Do you really think that you all avoiding any subject that could possibly relate back to Harry at all is doing _anything_ to prevent my thinking about it? Do you really think I've thought about _anything else_? Your lives don't all stop just because mine does. Even if he—" Her eyes fell on Victoire, staring around the table with wide eyes, and censored her argument for her niece's sake. "Even if things don't turn out well, Percy and Audrey will still get married, and so will Ron and Hermione. And Victoire will still learn how to play Seeker, and Ron will still have to come back to help George with his spider prank." She paused and took a steadying breath. Her next words were significantly quieter. "And I will still play Quidditch because it will be the only thing I'll have left." She looked down at the table now, feeling the weight of her family's eyes and pity on her, "So please stop," she finished lamely.

The resounding silence that followed this proclamation was even thicker than that which had followed George's earlier inflammatory statement. Ginny glanced up now to find tears in her mother's and Hermione's eyes. George didn't look much better and Ginny suddenly felt as bad for her brother as she did for herself. Because he'd already barely survived the loss of one brother and in the time since, he'd bonded with Harry perhaps more than any of them. She hoped desperately that history would not repeat itself; she didn't think George could take it.

Wisely, no one said anything in reply.

Eventually her family recovered some from her outburst and uncomfortable conversation picked up again, though everyone still looked sad and unsure. Ginny was ready to leave the second pudding was over and she was grateful when Bill and Fleur announced their intention to do so to get the girls in bed. At least she wouldn't be the only one leaving. While everyone was distracted with bidding goodnight to the children, Bill gestured for Ginny to follow him and led her out the back door into the grassy paddock. When they were alone, he simply turned to her. They studied each other in the dark for a moment. Then Bill said gently, "I'm going to hug you now."

Ginny released a breath somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Okay," she said, surprised at how her voice broke on the word. And then he embraced her and she was reminded just how comforting her eldest bother's hugs were.

"It won't be the only thing you have left," he said quietly as he held her. Ginny wasn't sure what he meant but stayed quiet, sure that he would elaborate. He did. "Even if he doesn't make it home again, Quidditch will not be the only thing you have, Gin. You know you've always got me. And Mum and Dad and everyone. You've got us now, whether you want us or not, and you'll have us no matter what. We just want to help, that's all we're trying to do. And I know it can be a lot." He held her for another few seconds until she nodded against him. "I love you, Ginny," he said now, letting her go.

"I love you too," she told him, ducking away as he tried to ruffle her hair—something he'd done since she was young. But she had to admit, for the moment anyway, she felt slightly better.

"Don't shut us out too much, okay?" he requested, "We're all worried. Also, we're trying not to scare Audrey away while she still has the option to run. For Percy's sake." Now Ginny really did laugh.

When the two went back inside a minute later, the rest of the family was doing a poor job disguising the fact that they'd been waiting for them. Bill said goodbye to the rest of them and then left with his wife and daughters. Ginny caught her mother watching her and offered the slightest nod of her head to reassure her that she was indeed all right.

Hermione stood up from her seat beside Audrey then and approached her. "Are you leaving?" she asked her.

She shrugged. "I was thinking about it."

She nodded. "Want to come to my house tonight?" Ginny narrowed her eyes in question and Hermione shrugged. "I'm tired of being home alone so I figure you definitely are. We could use each other's company."

"I have practice in the morning."

"And I have work. You could bring your things over and leave straight from mine. It wouldn't be the first time. It'll be fun."

"Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?"

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Humor me."

Ginny considered it shortly and then smirked. "Fine, but only if you have ice cream."

Hermione's smile widened. "We can grab some on the way."

* * *

Ron sat on the steps of the safe house's back porch, staring out at the night and trying to fight the moistness building in his eyes. He wasn't supposed to be out here; it was technically a risk to their cover but he found he didn't much care at the moment. They'd searched for most of the following day after discovering the empty hideout, hours in all directions for any sign of where the Death Eaters might have taken Harry, and had come up completely empty. They'd been so close. If they'd just gone a few hours earlier…

He hadn't quit kicking himself since they'd returned for letting Goodwin talk him out of going in on his own. He would have been without backup, yes, but at least Harry would have still _been_ there. Maybe he could have found a way to get in and out with him before Knox's men even noticed. Or if Goodwin had just agreed to go a day earlier, if he'd just listened…

His fists clenched tightly at his sides, Ron got up and stalked out into the house's unkempt garden. Save for the two wizards they'd left as guards at the abandoned hideout in case any of the Death Eaters came back, the Aurors had returned to the safe house a few hours ago, exhausted. The plan was to rest and regroup in the morning, and that's what they were doing. Except Ron. He couldn't even sit still, much less go to sleep. He was furious, and disappointed, and frustrated, and he'd given up glaring at the ceiling above his bed fairly quickly. There was no chance for sleep tonight and the confines of the house were suffocating in his current mood.

He'd hardly let himself react the night before. He'd wanted to yell and scream and maybe even break things when he first realized they were too late, but he hadn't. There hadn't been time and in the frenzy of action and searching that had consumed the hours since, he had not had the option to worry about anything else, his own feelings especially. But now, in the quiet pre-dawn hours he could hardly do anything else. It was like every emotion he'd felt since coming to Belarus had been slowly building in his gut, little by little, and that empty cabin had been the tipping point. He couldn't take it anymore.

Silently, though with trembling hands, he continued moving away from the safe house and into the copse of trees surrounding it. Once he'd deemed himself adequately hidden, he drew his wand from his side and cast several Silencing charms around himself, along with a _Muffliato_ for good measure. And then he was yelling, screaming into the night as the tears he'd been fighting broke free and the wave of emotion he'd been fighting against for days crested and broke free from him at last. He yelled himself hoarse, and then yelled some more because it was unfair, _Merlin_ , it was so unfair. He just wanted his brother back and that shouldn't have been so much to ask. He was trying so hard, as hard as he could, but Harry deserved so much better. And it wasn't fair.

A few minutes later, he sat down on the packed earth beneath him, panting and suddenly numb. His wand lay discarded on the ground several feet from him and he reached now not for that one, but the other wand still fastened in place on his belt. The holly wand felt slightly off in his hand, familiar but not loyal to him. Ron wondered if it's allegiance still lay with Harry, if he would still have control over his beloved wand after he'd been Stunned and captured while using it. He wondered if its allegiance had changed even though Knox clearly had not claimed it for himself. He hoped not.

He wasn't supposed to have the wand. Technically it was evidence, left behind by the dark wizards when they'd taken Harry and found in the corner of the cabin's dingy bedroom; one of his best friend's most prized possessions, tossed aside like rubbish. But they'd already attempted multiple tracking spells with it to find him, all unsuccessfully, and Ron felt better having it with him than leaving it in a box full of useless evidence. If nothing else, he'd have something to bring back to Ginny if things continued going the way they were.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there in the dirt—long enough that he figured dawn wasn't too far off. Nor was he sure when the last time he'd actually slept had been. He knew he was tired in a physical sense, but he'd never manage to sleep under the current circumstances—and he didn't want to. Harry was out there somewhere and Ron would not rest until he found him, one way or another.

He was debating the worth of heading back to the safe house to see if maybe any other possibilities for Death Eater hideouts had cropped up overnight when a shimmer of silver in his peripheral caught his attention. In a second, he'd retrieved his wand and spun, wand arm outstretched—and froze.

It was faint and only slightly corporeal, but Ron would have recognized it anywhere. A Patronus. Loosely associated, flickering, and seemingly growing fainter with each passing second, as if the strength of its caster were failing, but there was no mistaking it. A stag. It was Harry's stag Patronus. Ron couldn't believe his eyes.

He stood frozen as it grew nearer and stopped before him, fading fast. But the voice that came from it, though weak, was clear and nearly as familiar to Ron as his own. "Tracking spell," it said feebly, "Come alone… Please, Ron."

Ron was stunned. He stared at the spot where the Patronus vanished, his heart thundering in his chest. Harry. Harry had contacted him. He'd sent a Patronus. And he knew Ron was in the country? He didn't know how, he didn't know anything, but right then it did not matter.

His hands shaking slightly once more, he reached for Harry's holly and phoenix feather wand and stared down at it. All previous efforts to track him using it had failed. Ron had assumed it was because he'd been disarmed and its loyalty no longer belonged to him. But maybe Knox and his followers had simply kept Untraceable charms on him that had prevented them. Harry would have known this, and yet he'd still sent that Patronus with that message. Was it simply because he'd had no other choice? Or could it possibly mean he'd managed to escape? Was he on the run? Was he injured? His Patronus had certainly not been an indication of great health.

But it didn't matter. None of that mattered if Ron could find Harry. He just had to be alive— _Please_ let him be alive!

Anticipation knotting in his stomach, Ron lifted his own wand and cast the tracking spell. And then he waited.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello!**

 **It has been an absurdly long time and I am so sorry. Life has been busy and motivation to write has just not been a thing, but I promise I did not forget about this story! As of now, I am planning to have one more chapter after this one and I WILL finish it, I promise! Thank you so much for putting up with me and for your reviews and encouragement. You all really are wonderful!**

* * *

Long-distance tracking had never been something Ron particularly enjoyed, as it required Apparating to an unknown location indicated by the tracking spell and was often accompanied by motion sickness or even Splinching. Thankfully, he managed to avoid the latter as he landed hard on packed dirt and very nearly pitched forward. The adrenaline currently coursing through him and exciting every nerve in his body made the characteristic wooziness tolerable. He took a moment to get his bearings.

The wood was dense and foreboding in the predawn dimness. He'd landed in a narrow space between two trees, the canopies of which prevented the worst of the falling rain from reaching him. Even so, at the risk of sentencing himself to hours in the forest in wet clothes, he cast a quick _Impervius_ spell over himself. Whatever shape Harry was in was surely bad enough. He needed Ron at his best.

The foliage seemed to go on forever and as far as Ron could tell, it seemed equally thick in all directions. It was certainly a good place to hide from Death Eaters—and quite possibly everyone else as well. He scanned the area carefully, eyes peeled for any sign that Harry might have come this way. The tracking spell tended to be accurate up to about half a kilometer, meaning if Ron's spellwork was to be trusted, Harry should not have been far.

Of course, nothing was ever that easy.

He saw no obvious signs of his best friend in any direction and with the rainwater that dripped regularly down from the leaves above him, any physical evidence that might be of use in tracking him had likely already been washed away. Ron spun in another slow circle, searching for anything that might point him in the right direction, only to stop again before he could get himself too hopelessly turned around. He wondered if he dared call out for Harry at the risk of alerting anyone else nearby of his presence here. He decided, for the moment anyway, that chance was not one he was willing to take, considering he couldn't be sure Harry was close enough to hear over the sound of the rain or even conscious enough to hear anything at all—he didn't let himself consider that last part for long.

After several more moments of fruitless scanning and consideration, Ron marked one of the trees he'd first landed beside upon arriving and set a path in a random direction from it, keeping his eyes peeled on the surrounding area as he went. He kept as straight as possible, cursing the overcast sky visible in occasional short bursts between patchier areas of vegetation, for obstructing any view he might otherwise have had of the sun—having risen by now—to mark his direction. When he'd travelled an acceptable distance past the half-kilometer mark with no signs of Harry, he turned around and trekked back, following his trail in the moist ground and returning to his starting point to set out once more, forging another trail a few degrees over from the first.

It was a common technique employed by the Aurors during search and rescue missions, this fanning out approach which covered the most ground in the least amount of time and which had proved successful in numerous instances during Ron's years with them. Unfortunately, it was a tactic normally used with a fairly large number of people at their disposal, all of whom typically fanned out from the single point at once and, as such, were able to cover the distance in far less time than it would take Ron to working alone. However, he was here on his own, having followed Harry's plea to come alone and having told no one where he was going. And at this point, Ron preferred it that way, even if it would take significantly longer to locate Harry—time that potentially stood to cost his friend dearly, a fact Ron chose to ignore for the time being. He honestly wasn't sure if he could trust Goodwin and his team, though he had no concrete reason as to why. Something about the way the events of the past few days had played out did not sit well with him and he was through playing games when Harry's life hung in the balance.

Many minutes passed as Ron continued the slow task of branching out little by little around that central spot, hiking back and forth in the miserable weather, searching for the tiniest sign of life. It was tedious work, and with the ever-falling rain and the frigid temperatures, even with impermeability and warming charms, it was not long before he was utterly freezing. However Ron refused to let his guard down. He'd checked the tracking spell more than once—Harry was close. It was simply a matter of finding the prat.

His patience began to wane just past the three-quarter point around the tree. He estimated he'd been at it now for over three hours and aside from an empty stomach and mud-coated boots, he had absolutely nothing to show for his efforts. It was sheer force of will and Weasley stubbornness keeping him going at this point, that and the thought of the expressions on his sister's and fiancee's faces if he didn't bring Harry home. He simply refused to think of how such a possibility might impact his own life—he couldn't if he hoped to keep his sanity, not yet. He approached the half-kilometer mark of his fourteenth—or maybe fifteenth by now, he'd lost count—path from the tree and was preparing to turn around and head back to it once again when a slight rustling sounded to his left. Ron froze and turned toward the sound.

He saw nothing at first, but remained where he was, watching and listening, scarcely daring to breathe. Kicking himself for being so jumpy and getting his hopes up, he was about to turn back to his path once more when it happened again—and there! The faintest shimmering next to the base of a large tree trunk, the same type of shimmering that could be seen when looking directly at a Disillusioned wizard. Ron wondered if he dared hope…

His heart beating wildly in his chest, he took a step off the path he'd set. The thought crossed his mind—the voice of reason in him, which had adopted Hermione's voice over the years—that even if the shimmer he saw did come from a wizard under a Disillusionment charm, it didn't necessarily mean it was the wizard he was looking for. However, he'd tracked Harry to this area and he'd seen no signs of anyone else nearby in all the time he'd been here, not to mention the fact that if it was a dark wizard he was approaching, he likely would have already been jinxed. Or worse.

Regardless, there was no going back now. Bracing himself for the worst, Ron lifted his wand and pointed it at the spot he'd seen. " _Finite._ " And just like that, the Disillusionment charm vanished and Ron's heart stopped only to start again. There was Harry, after everything that had happened the past few days, right there in front of him, sprawled against the base of a tree in the middle of nowhere. "Merlin's b— _Harry_!" Ron cried, paying just enough mind not to shout loudly enough to potentially alert anyone else of his discovery. He rushed forward, his heart in his throat, and landed hard on his knees in front of his prone friend. He barely recognized him. Harry had clearly taken quite a beating. His face was swollen and discolored, his temple cut open. In his lap, his knuckles were bruised and his fingers bloody. His wrists were braceleted with rope burns, and judging from the various large tears in his tattered Auror's robes and the dried blood down his front, Ron was willing to bet plenty more injuries hid out of sight.

"Harry!" said firmly, "Harry, open your eyes, look at me! Merlin, please don't be dead!" He grabbed Harry's arms and shook him—only to stop abruptly when his friend jerked away with a hiss of pain. The relief the action brought with it nearly reduced Ron to tears right there. He exhaled loudly and relaxed slightly. Harry lifted his head and stared at him for several seconds, squinting with black eyes to see without his glasses. It looked painful.

"Ron?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

"It's me, mate," Ron told him, "I'm here."

Harry released a breath and let his head fall back against the tree trunk. His own relief was evident. "Took you long enough," he ground out.

Ron gave a laugh of surprise. "Sorry. Traffic, you know."

Harry opened green, unamused eyes and squinted at him, which largely ruined the effect. Ron refrained from grinning, giddy with relief. "You look like hell," Harry informed him.

"Yeah? Well you're the most beautiful bloody thing I've seen in a while, you git."

"You didn't tell anyone you were coming here, did you?" he asked, ignoring Ron's comment. "Someone in the Auror Department's been feeding Knox information."

Ron blinked, getting to his feet. "Well, that explains a lot. But no, it's just me."

"Good."

"Can you stand?"

"I think so."

"Alright, come on then." Ron moved to help Harry up. The latter cooperated and didn't complain, though he looked in utter agony with the slightest movement. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around his ribs, his breaths coming in short gasps through clenched teeth. Once vertical, he swayed alarmingly and gripped tightly to Ron. After several seconds though, he seemed to find a bit of equilibrium and released his grip. "All right?" Ron asked him.

"I'll be fine." A typical Harry Potter answer if he had ever heard one. "Just get me out of here."

* * *

Ginny left for practice Monday morning feeling surprisingly good. She knew Hermione had been fussing in inviting her over after dinner the night before and occupying her with board games and ice cream until it was well past a reasonable time for them to be in bed. Yet despite the lengths Ginny tended to go to in order to prevent her family members from fussing over her, she was happy she'd agreed to her soon-to-be sister-in-law's proposal. She was sleep-deprived this morning, sure, but her heart felt slightly less shattered.

It wasn't that her desire to have Harry back home with her hurt any less today than it had any other time over the past week, she was just getting extremely good at distracting herself from it all. It wasn't a permanent solution, but then, she hoped desperately that she wouldn't need one. She was still holding out hope for a miracle, and she wasn't ready to give that up just yet.

Ginny mentally scolded herself as she Flooed over to the Harpies' stadium for Quidditch practice. Now was not the time. They had a match tomorrow and her teammates needed her at her best. And she would make sure she gave it to them.

Practice was always more subdued the day before a match, as Gwenog did not want the team worn out so close to playing. Ginny missed the regular level of intensity and the good workout—and good mood—that came with it, but she gave it her all anyway, struggling to achieve that zone of single-minded focus that only Quidditch seemed able to bring her. It ended far too soon for her liking and Ginny headed for the locker rooms, attempting to figure out how to pass the rest of the day. She needed go grocery shopping and make sure her Quidditch robes were cleaned and pressed before the match tomorrow. She wondered vaguely if there was anything else she could get done that would keep her away from the house for a bit. After having Teddy for the weekend and spending the night before at Hermione's, she was not looking forward to returning home alone. The Burrow was always an option—her mother loved any excuse to have her children over, but after the events of the night before and the constant hovering Molly had done the entire week, that idea seemed less than appealing.

Ginny exchanged small talk with her teammates as she readied for a shower. The majority of the conversation centered around the coming match against Kenmare—what to expect, best defense tactics against their impressive offensive members, and whether or not their handsome Keeper was, in fact, seeing someone. She didn't much care about that last part one way or another, but for the majority of the team, most of whom were young and single, this was pressing information indeed. Smiling to herself, Ginny turned toward the showers, shampoo in hand, and shook her head a bit at her fellow Harpies. Even with her Hogwarts years behind her, locker room gossip never changed.

When she was clean and dressed, Ginny braided back her damp hair and gathered her things to go, resigning herself to a long day consisting of chores and attempting not to wallow too much on her own. She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and was turning to leave when Maggie, one of the team's Beaters and her friend, called after her. Ginny turned and found the witch hurrying toward her. "Glad I caught you," Maggie said, grinning. She was a large girl, built perfectly for her position as Beater, and pretty in an imposing sort of way. She stood several inches taller than Ginny and was a few years older, with dark straight hair and blue eyes. She'd always been friendly with her.

"What's up?" Ginny asked her as the two fell into step together and headed for the exit.

"A few of us decided to get lunch together in Diagon Alley," Maggie explained. "I wanted to invite you."

"Oh. Thanks, that sounds fun."

"So you'll come?" the older witch asked, eyeing her.

"Of course," Ginny answered her, "Were you worried I wouldn't?"

"Well, I'd hoped you would but honestly I wasn't sure. You've just seemed a bit off lately. Quieter than normal. I was worried something was wrong."

"Oh," Ginny replied somewhat awkwardly. Those first few days of practice had been rough after finding out about Harry but she'd really thought she'd been doing better since. Maybe she wasn't as good an actress as she thought. "I've just been dealing with some stuff," she told Maggie. "I'll be all right."

"I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do…"

"Yeah, it's, er, a family thing."

Maggie nodded her understanding. "Well still, if you need anything, I'm here."

Ginny smiled at her. "Thanks."

They were out of the locker room now and heading for the stadium's Floo. Maggie looked about to say something more when Gwenog's voice sounded from somewhere to the right of them. "Potter." Ginny turned toward her name. Gwenog stood a short distance away, talking with Lydia, the Harpies' reserve Seeker. She gestured for Ginny to join her. Ginny nodded and stopped walking. She looked back to Maggie, who said simply, "We're meeting at the Leaky Cauldron at one. See you then?"

"I'll be there," she promised before turning toward where Gwenog waited. By the time she reached her, the Harpies coach had dismissed Lydia and the wiry blonde witch had walked away, leaving them alone. "What's going on?" Ginny asked, stopping before her. Gwenog simply studied her for a moment, saying nothing. Ginny waited, ignoring the slight discomfort that came with the scrutiny.

Finally her coach sighed. "I heard some concerning news from a friend at the Ministry this morning." Ginny said nothing. "Harry's missing?" Gwenog added, watching her with an unreadable expression.

Ginny took a breath. "Yes."

The older witch continued to study her. "I'm sorry."

She nodded. "Thank you."

Gwenog sighed again. "Well, that explains a few things, at least. You had me worried for a few days there, Potter. I didn't want to have to bump Emilia up from the reserves."

Ginny held her coach's stare, ignoring the quickening of her heart in her chest. "Should I be concerned?" she asked evenly.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning to replace you yet," Gwenog answered simply, "Your performance suffered heavily early last week, which I assume is when you first found out, but I called you out and you fixed the problem. You've been playing fine since."

Unsure of what to make of the conversation, Ginny found herself saying, "Thank you?"

"It was obvious something was going on with you," Gwenog continued, "I assumed it was something slightly less life-altering, but I want you to know I'm impressed with your ability to play like you have under the circumstances."

"Thank you," Ginny repeated with more confidence.

"That being said," her coach continued after a pause, "I need you to be honest with me here. I'm not planning to replace you as starting Chaser as long as you continue playing well, but I need to know where your head is—Just listen," she added quickly, holding up a hand when Ginny opened her mouth to protest. "The match against Kenmare tomorrow is a big one and if you're unable to give it your all, I need you to tell me now. I can have Emilia stand in for you until the situation with Harry gets sorted out and as soon as it does, you can go back to playing as you always have. It's up to you, but I'm trusting you to make the decision that's best for the team."

Ginny took a few seconds to gather her thoughts before meeting Gwenog's gaze. "Honestly," she said, " _right now_ , I don't know where my head is. I haven't for most of the past week and I doubt that will change before tomorrow. But one of the only places I've been able to really focus on anything _but_ the fact that Harry's missing is on the Quidditch pitch. Even when I was playing poorly last week, it wasn't because I wasn't focused or trying. I've been getting better at coping and this team is one of the reasons for that. Honestly, one of the only times I feel completely okay is when I _am_ out there flying." She took a breath, pausing. "Being on this team means the world to me and you have to know I would _never_ do anything to compromise that. So, if you'll let me, I'd like to play tomorrow. If I give anything less than my absolute best, you can bench me and put Emilia in, but I'd like the opportunity to prove that I've earned my starting position. Now more than ever."

Gwenog nodded slowly, her eyes not leaving Ginny. "Are you eating?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Sleeping?"

"More than I was."

"Alright."

"So can I play tomorrow?"

She nodded. "I'll make sure Emilia is prepared just in case, but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. You're a valuable asset to this team, Potter. Don't ever forget that."

"I won't."

"And I _am_ sorry about what you're going through. I can't imagine." Ginny nodded and looked away, not trusting herself to speak further. "Alright," Gwenog said, "Get out of here. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

As it turned out, Side-Along Apparating a severely injured wizard out of a place he did not know the location of was not the easiest task Ron had ever faced. He'd tracked Harry blindly to this spot in the woods and neither had any clue as to their current position. Harry, leaning heavily against him and bearing little of his own weight, was in no condition for long-distance Apparition—he was in no shape for Apparition of any sort if Ron was being honest, but they had no other option. He had no way of knowing what country they were currently in, much less how far it was to the nearest wizarding—or even Muggle at this point—hospital, and therefore any destination he chose might very well be too far. The last thing Harry needed right now was to be Splinched on top of all his other injuries, but standing up did not appear to be good for his health in his current state and Ron feared if he did not decide on a plan of action soon, he'd have to Apparate with best friend unconscious.

Deciding there was nothing for it and because there was only one potentially helpful spot Ron could properly picture within what was hopefully a reasonable distance from where they currently stood, he concentrated hard on the Belarusian Ministry of Magic, hoping against all hope that they were, in fact, in or near Belarus and that he'd been observant enough the last and only time he'd set foot in the place to get them both there now.

His heart in his throat and his stomach in knots, Ron closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Harry, and turned on the spot.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading! I will try to update as soon as possible!  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey everyone. So I'm aware that many of you have probably given up hope of ever seeing an update to this, or really any of my stories, and I am so very sorry about that. I have been busier than I have ever been in my life this year and I honestly forgot fanfiction even existed for a while. However, I am going to give it my best effort to finish this story and my other ongoing ones because I know you all really love them and I do too. I will try to not make you wait a year between updates in the future.**

 **That all being said, I so appreciate all of you who have stuck with me through the long waits, and for the reviews and support. I appreciate it so much and I hope this chapter can at least start to make your patience worthwhile.**

 **This story has been one of my favorites to write and I swear I will finish it. Originally I had planned for this to be the final chapter, however with the way it all worked out as I was writing it, I'm going to go ahead and add one more to finish it.**

 **I hope you enjoy. :)**

* * *

The next several hours were rather chaotic. Not surprisingly, Apparating into a foreign ministry with an unconscious wizard who had been beaten half to death caused quite the uproar amongst the Belarusian witches and wizards. Ron had, of course, drawn unnecessary attention to them when he'd stumbled under Harry's weight upon landing and was forced to awkwardly and not at all gracefully lower his best friend to the floor. Amongst the murmuring that had sprung up around the ministry's main entry hall, several employees had rushed forward in attempt to help or apprehend—Ron couldn't be sure and he hadn't been about to waste time finding out. "Help!" he cried at them, ignoring the blonde witch who approached and began speaking to him in flustered Belarusian. "Please, where's the closest hospital?"

Several badged wizards broke through the throng and rushed toward Ron and Harry, wands outstretched. One of them, the tallest and broadest of the lot, shouted something in the unintelligible language. "English!" Ron cried, "Do you speak English?"

"I do," another of the wizards—Ron figured they were the Belarusian equivalent of Aurors—said in a thick Slavic accent, "And you have ten seconds to tell me who you are before I arrest you and throw you in a cell to rot."

Ron spent several minutes explaining—as much as he was able with the eyes and ears on them and the language barrier—who he was and what had happened. He was met with surprising suspicion from the Belarusian Aurors, but then, he decided, if the situation was reversed, he likely wouldn't have believed him immediately either. Eventually, a petite witch, clearly a Healer, rushed over and knelt beside Harry's prone form, her eyes wide.

"I swear I'll tell you whatever you want to know as soon as I get my friend medical attention," Ron all but begged the foreign wizards. "Please, where is the nearest wizarding hospital?"

The wizard faltered slightly, his sense of urgency falling far short of Ron's expectation—did these people not see the seriously ailing wizard bleeding on their sparkly white floors? "I cannot let you leave. Our Healers—"

"Will not be enough. He's been tortured," Ron said impatiently before the Healer—who had looked up, probably about to say the same thing—could comment. "I'll answer all your bloody questions at the hospital, you have my word, but please help me help my friend."

"He can go. You stay."

"No," Ron told him firmly, and then, throwing caution to the wind, went on—quietly. "This is Harry Potter. He's an English Auror and a bloody famous one at that. He was captured and tortured by Death Eaters, the same ones whose leader he defeated five years ago. All of Britain has been searching for him for over a week and the Auror Department has been compromised and cannot be trusted, so I am the only one who can. My name is Ronald Weasley; pick up any book about the war with Voldemort and my name will be in it, call the Minister for Magic and he will tell you, but for Merlin's sake, _help him!_ "

The wizard considered Ron for another moment, fraying his impatient nerves even further. "How do we know you are who you say you are?" he demanded at last.

"Give me Veritaserum or whatever you lot use here, I'll gladly take it— _after_ I get Harry to hospital."

The Auror glanced down at Harry, at the Healer working fruitlessly to stabilize him there on the floor, and back at Ron again. He sighed and gave a nod, and then turned to his fellow wizards and spoke to them in Belarusian. Then he stepped toward Ron. "You will Apparate with me there and then you will tell me everything, and if I find out that you have lied about anything, I promise I will personally make sure you regret it."

"I'm sure you will, mate."

* * *

Ginny woke up early the next morning feeling restless, impatient, and itching to move. She stayed in bed as long as she was able, but gave up attempting to fall back asleep by half seven and got up. It wasn't unusual for match days to feel like this, though it seemed only exacerbated by Harry's absence and the emotional turmoil of the past seven days.

She made her way downstairs and paused at the foot, assessing the house before her. It needed cleaning, and probably a thorough dusting as well, as none of the housework she'd planned to do had been completed the day before in favor of the unexpected plans that had sprung up after practice. Domestic activities had not been high on her list of priorities as of late and it showed.

With a sigh, Ginny put her nervous energy to good use and moved forward into the lounge. Her duffel bag from yesterday's Quidditch practice still sat by the fireplace where she'd dropped it on her way to lunch with the team and the coffee table was littered with books, some old newspapers, and a teacup from the night before. She turned on the wireless and, with the Weird Sisters' newest single filling the house, spent several minutes moving through that room, then the kitchen, tidying up. She threw a load of clothes in the wash, dusted the lounge, washed and dried the dishes waiting in the kitchen sink, and mopped the floor the Muggle way. It was a few minutes past nine when she finished, flung herself down on the sofa, and surveyed her work, pleased with the morning's progress.

She felt slightly more settled after the time spent working, but sitting still lasted only a moment before the itch to _do_ something returned once more. She did not need to be in Hollyhead until three, which meant she still had a good deal of time on her hands with nothing much to do. The thought didn't sit well. She'd spent so much of the past week consistently engaged in one thing or another that to be without the distraction now, with so many unknowns still present in the Harry situation, left her teetering on the edge of wallowing once more, and she knew that today of all days, with a professional Quidditch match in just a few hours, wallowing was not an option. Not now.

With a sigh, she stood and turned for the stairs. Maybe she could wander around Muggle London for a bit. She needed to get a birthday gift for Victoire anyway and it seemed as good a use of her time as any right then.

Ginny arrived in the master bedroom and crossed to the attached bathroom for a shower. She didn't necessarily need to wash her hair, having done so after practice the day before, but she did anyway, along with exfoliating, shaving her legs, and generally being almost unnecessarily thorough in everything else. She washed every last millimeter of her body, until the bathroom was completely filled with steam and her skin felt nearly raw, and only then did she finally turn off the water and get out.

Ginny emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, her hair hanging wet and loose down her back, and stopped before the chest of drawers containing her clothes, suddenly drained. Maybe it was the long, hot shower that had her suddenly so tired, but the thought of going out, even to Muggle London where she was just another face in the crowd, suddenly seemed unappealing. With a sigh, she backed up a few steps until the backs of her knees hit the unmade bed and sat down.

She did not want to wallow, no, but putting on a mask every day was exhausting and suddenly the idea of doing so again was, at this very moment, more than she could handle. So instead she simply laid back atop the rumpled covers and hugged Harry's pillow to herself, shutting her eyes against the light of the room. The pillowcase no longer smelled of him, but she held fast to it anyway. She couldn't really decide if the action offered much comfort, but she opted to believe it did anyhow. Still, she was surprised when she opened them again over an hour later, feeling a bit better, and found that she'd actually managed to sleep a while.

Ginny, taking advantage of her relatively clear mind post-kip, decided she would revisit the idea of going shopping for Victoire and hurried to get dressed. She was out the door and Aparating away before she could change her mind once more.

* * *

For several more minutes, they remained where they were. As far as Ron could figure from context clues and the meager translations the Auror—whose name he had yet to be graced with—offered him, the Healer was concerned about transporting Harry in his condition. As she worked furiously over him, casting spells to stabilize him enough for the trip, Ron looked on in concern, grateful when additional security arrived, at the Aurors' orders, to disperse the gathered crowds and keep curious witches and wizards away from the scene. The small group of Aurors remained close, but no one questioned him further, for which he was grateful. He nearly sagged with relief when a modicum of color returned to Harry's ghostly white face and the witch deemed him as ready for transport as he was going to get.

Nearly two hours later, Ron sat in a cramped waiting room within the Belarusian wizarding hospital. He neither knew what its name translated to nor how to pronounce it, but he'd never been so happy to be sat in a hospital in his life.

The time since leaving the Belarusian ministry had passed in a blur. The Healers and hospital staff, in Ron's opinion, recognized the severity of Harry's condition much more quickly than the Aurors travelling with them had. They took one look at the still-unconscious wizard—deathly pale once more from the transportation to the hospital—and immediately began moving and shouting what he assumed were orders to those around them.

Harry was immediately—though, Ron noticed, with surprising care—levitated onto a bed and wheeled away. He moved to follow after but was halted by a Mediwitch before his two shadows could do so themselves—a good thing, as Ron honestly wasn't sure how he would have reacted to _that_. She told him, in a no-nonsense tone with hardly any accent at all, that the Healers needed to get Harry assessed and taken care of before anyone would be allowed in to see him, and that any resistance on his part to that would only serve to interfere with the timely care they were trying to provide.

Ron, adequately chastised, relented without further argument. When the Mediwitch left, the Aurors descended on him like vultures, and he proceeded to spend the next hour explaining everything to them in detail. He learned the Auror who'd spoken to him in the Ministry was called Ivanova, and his partner, a darker, well-muscled wizard with an intimidating glare, was Rup. They did not make him take Veritaserum—a fact Ron would not be complaining about, but listened intensely. Rup held a Sneakoscope casually in one hand and studied it during the interrogation. When it remained quiet after three quarters of an hour, the foreign wizards—or, perhaps it was Ron who was the foreign one here—seemed to relax some.

Eventually, he'd been allowed to contact Kingsley and the Minister himself was on his way. Ivanova and Rup remained at the hospital as extra security until further details could be sorted. They sat across from Ron now, conversing quietly in what he assumed was Belarusian and paid him no mind. Which was just as well. Ron was exhausted. He felt it in every fiber of his being, and yet he refused to rest. Not yet. Not until he was able to see that Harry was okay with his own two eyes and know for sure he would live. Not until this whole ordeal was well and truly over.

And then he wanted to sleep for a week straight.

It seemed like an eternity passed with no word and Ron had to talk himself down from pestering the young witch seated behind a nearby desk for an update half a dozen times—and that was only because he was sure she likely knew less than he did. Just when his patience was all but worn through and he was seriously considering barging his way down the hall and damning the consequences, the Mediwitch who had held him up before reappeared and crossed the small waiting room toward him. Ron shot to his feet before his brain could fully process the action.

"I take it you're Ron?" she asked, stopping before him.

He could only nod, his heart suddenly in his throat. "Is he alright?"

"He lost a lot of blood," she answered seriously, "The next few hours are critical, but he's currently stable and resting as comfortably as can be expected."

The relief was like a tidal wave as it flooded Ron. He took a deep breath, thanking his few lucky stars. "Can I see him?" he asked.

The Mediwitch hesitated but, apparently deciding Ron looked too pathetic to deny further, she nodded. "Follow me."

The hospital room was like any other Ron had seen—bare, clean, and rather cold. The single bed occupied most of the windowless space, and an empty chair waited in the corner. Ron thanked the Mediwitch and watched as she turned to go before grabbing the chair and pulling it closer to where Harry lay—pale, unconscious, and covered with a threadbare green blanket. Ron sat, grabbed his best friend's hand, and made an effort not to count his every breath as he began his vigil.

He thought about contacting Hermione and Ginny, the rest of his family. He knew they'd be beside themselves to know that he'd waited as long as he had already, but to send an international owl would likely take at least a day. Kingsley surely had much faster means of getting word back home. Ron made a mental note to inquire about it once the Minister arrived. With a sigh, he leaned forward on his elbows and returned to watching Harry breathe once more.

Kingsley arrived nearly an hour later. Ron who, despite himself, was beginning to doze beside the bed, straightened in his chair upon his entrance. The Minister for Magic nodded briefly at him in greeting before his eyes fell on Harry's prone form. Sudden emotion played across Kingsley's face as he examined the parts of Harry not hidden by the blanket. Ron thought maybe he should look away, allow the Minister a private moment—the close relationship he and Harry had forged over the years was undeniable. But just as quickly as the emotion had come, it was gone, and Kingsley looked like himself again—kind and concerned, of course, but not overly attached. Ron wouldn't say anything, but it was always nice to see the human side of the Minister for Magic, who at times seemed larger than life.

Kingsley took a deep breath and then looked to Ron. "I'm afraid you're going to have quite a bit of explaining to do when you return home, my friend," he said grimly. "You left quite the mess for the Auror Department."

Ron took a deep breath. He'd expected nothing less, but that did nothing to stop the fear that curled in his gut at those words. "I'm sorry," he said. He'd never meant to cause extra work for Kingsley, or Robards, though knowing what he did about the potential mole, he wasn't sure if his regret extended to anyone else just then. "I can explain, if you'll let me."

"Well, seeing as getting Harry transferred to St. Mungo's is going to take a while, you may as well. It's one less thing we'll have to worry about when we get home."

So Ron told him everything that had happened since coming to Belarus—the constant delays, the setbacks, the red tape, and what Harry had said about someone feeding Knox information. "I'm sorry, sir," he finished, "But I would do it all over again if it meant getting Harry home safely when no one else would."

Kingsley, who had sat listening in silence, remained looking at him for several more seconds before speaking. "One of these days, Ron, the Ministry will stop underestimating you," he said pensively.

Ron blinked, "Does that mean I'm not in trouble?" He felt like a child for asking but he couldn't help himself.

Kingsley chuckled. "Oh, I didn't say that. Gawain would have liked nothing more than to see you arrested for treason when he heard what you did. Your success in rescuing Harry has likely done little to quell that."

"Oh."

He smirked. "That being said, I wouldn't worry much about it if I were you. I'm not condoning insubordination, mind you, but in this case, I find the result to supersede the breach of trust. And you didn't hear this from me, but with everything you've told me, frankly I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing in your position."

Any response Ron had to this was cut short when Harry began to stir. Ron was on his feet and beside his friend in an instant. Harry jerked awake. He made to sit up but froze, hissing in pain before he got close. "Easy, mate," Ron said, moving to lower him back down again, "You're alright."

"Ron?" Harry rasped.

"I'm here."

"What happened? How…?"

Kingsley put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I'm going to go let the Mediwitch know he's awake. I'll be back soon." Ron, unsure exactly where the sudden lump in his throat had come from, just nodded, recognizing the Minister's leave for what it was—a few minutes alone with Harry.

"You escaped," Ron managed as Kingsley stepped out, "You sent a Patronus, told me to find you."

"And you did."

"'Course I did."

Harry groped around, delirious—or maybe just blind without his glasses—until he found Ron's arm and grasped it. "The leak. You have to tell Kingsley, there's—"

"He knows," Ron assured him, "I told him already, as much as I could. He can go over the details with you when you're up for it, but he's already handling it."

Harry relaxed some upon hearing this. "How long was I… gone?"

"About eight days. Maybe just over," Ron answered him gently. He'd kept track of the time tirelessly, but he still wasn't sure on the exact timeline of things prior to his arrival in Belarus.

"Merlin. Does Ginny know?"

"Yes. By now, I'm sure most everyone does."

Harry sighed weakly. "Have they been updated?"

"I dunno," Ron admitted, "I was hoping Kingsley might know the best way to contact everyone from here. I figure he has resources that I don't."

"Tell them I'm alright. Especially Ginny and your mum. Tell them not to worry."

Ron was not surprised in the slightest by this. How typical of Harry to worry about everyone else, even in his current state. It was an oddly comforting scenario. He smirked. "Fat chance of that, mate."

Harry's hand, still atop Ron's wrist, squeezed some. "Please, Ron."

"I'll take care of it," he promised, "You know I will."

A Mediwitch, tall, dark-haired, and moving with purpose walked briskly into the room then, a vial in hand. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Potter," she said with accented wryness. "How are you feeling?"

The short exchange seemed all that was needed to sap any energy Harry had. He slumped against his pillow now and blinked tiredly at the witch. "I'm alright."

"Are you in pain?" He seemed ready to deny it, but then thought better of it and nodded. The Mediwitch nodded with him, like she'd expected as much. Not that that it was a surprising answer—every breath the wizard took looked exhausting.

"Here," the Mediwitch said, extending the potion toward him, "This will put you to sleep, but you'll feel loads better when you wake up again." She held the vial to Harry's mouth. Ron watched—with some alarm— as he swallowed it and, just seconds later, his eyes closed. The Mediwitch looked Harry over and made a few notes on a piece of parchment before nodding at Ron and taking her leave. Ron remained where he was for another minute, once more watching Harry's chest rise and fall, his breathing deep and even—the deep sleep of the drugged. Then he stood, deciding his best friend would, in fact, live to see another day, and turned for the door in search of a certain Minister for Magic and a way to contact home.

He had a promise to keep.

* * *

"Potter!" Gwenog's voice, aided by an obvious _Sonorus_ charm, rang out across the practice field where Ginny was warming up. She turned in her coach's direction and noticed the familiar figure, clad in Ministry robes, stood beside her. She fought the sudden fear rising in her chest. Had something happened with the search? Was there news of Harry? Why else would Gwenog allow an interruption to pregame warmups, especially so close to the start of a match?

Was Ginny's world about to come crashing down around her, in a way that was so much worse than it had the week previously?

Gwenog beckoned her over.

Hermione's face was tear-streaked, Ginny noticed, as she flew over warily. She touched down before the witches, her heart in her throat. It seemed to reside there a lot as of late. She eyed her sister-in-law, but addressed her coach when she asked, "What's going on?"

"Ginny," Gwenog's use of her first name surprised her. She honestly wasn't sure she'd ever heard the other witch address her by it. "I'm going to have Emilia stand in for you tonight." Ginny's mouth fell open, maybe to protest—she was not entirely sure. Gwenog held up a hand and continued, "Family is more important than Quidditch. Always. The team will make do without you tonight." She paused, and Ginny thought the witch almost smiled before she continued, "You need to go be there for your husband."

Ginny's eyes flew wide then and she looked again at her sister-in-law and focused there, failing to prevent herself from suddenly hoping against all hope.

Hermione was smiling widely now, her brown eyes less shadowed than Ginny had seen them all week, as she said, "He found him, Ginny. Ron found Harry. They're at a hospital in Belarus and as soon as Harry is well enough, they're bringing him home."

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading!**

 **I will be back with the next update as soon as I can!**


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